


Second Chances

by Mystical_Magician



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Wicked - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Crossover, F/M, Romance, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 10:19:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystical_Magician/pseuds/Mystical_Magician
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being flung, nearly dead, into a new world, Elphaba fashioned a life for herself as one Minerva McGonagall. A new arrival threatens to shatter the second chance she worked so hard to attain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning, I have used elements from both the musical and book versions of Wicked.

_The first rock thrown again_  
Welcome to Hell, little Saint  
Mother Gaia in slaughter  
Welcome to paradise, Soldier 

_My first cry neverending_  
All life is to fear for life  
You fool, you wanderer  
You challenged the gods and lost  
-“Planet Hell,” Nightwish 

It hurt, sweet Oz, it hurt. She had been soaked head to toe by that silly little girl, and, oh, what a painful way to die. Her nerves were screaming and she thought she was screaming as well, but it was difficult, so difficult to be sure. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Who knew what would happen, how the water would affect her eyes? But that was silly, wasn’t it? This was killing her, what did it matter whether she was blinded before she died? 

Her body was on fire, a blazing inferno. Her skin was blistering, blackening, cracking because of the flame. It must be, but she didn’t dare open her eyes to check. 

But no, it just felt like fire, it wasn’t really fire because water couldn’t catch fire, and she was losing her mind, she was, she was, it would leave her if she didn’t die soon. 

She screamed again, or perhaps she was still screaming. Were there words there? Had she been saying something? The white-hot pain had stolen away awareness of anything but what her body was going through.

Ah, but sweet insensibility finally crept upon her. 

When her wits returned, she was aware of a different quality to her pain. Although ever present, the pain was slightly tempered by something cold, something frozen. Snow, she identified, but did not dare open her eyes, as snowflakes landed on her face, providing a moment of chill relief, before melting into pinpricks of searing torture. 

She tried to call for help, but her throat was so raw – from screaming? – that she could produce only a faint rasping sound. But something had heard her, or perhaps seen her. She heard footsteps crunching on the frozen ground as she slipped away into unconsciousness. 

 

Elphaba regained consciousness by slow degrees, at last opening her eyes to see that she was alone in an almost blindingly white room. The first thought that occurred to her was that she was dead, but her aching body proved otherwise. You couldn’t hurt if you were dead, could you? 

She turned her head to the side and noticed a row of beds. The cleanliness and medicine bottles she could just make out at the other end of the room suggested some sort of healing facility. Elphaba didn’t recognize several objects, and she couldn’t remember seeing or hearing about a place like this. 

Her heart raced with fear and she pushed herself into a sitting position, fighting a wave of dizziness. Where in Oz was she? _Calm down_ , Elphaba told herself. Panicking wouldn’t help, and they must be at least somewhat friendly if they had healed her. She raised a hand to rub at her tired eyes, and froze midway. _Her skin wasn’t green_.

Elphaba spent quite some time staring at her pale, normal-looking skin. Had the water burned away the green coloring? Was it really that simple? Was it possible? 

She threw back the covers of the bed and attempted to stand. The black-haired witch had to grip the bed tightly to keep from collapsing, but her shaky legs finally deigned to hold her up. She drew the hem of the borrowed gown up a bit and examined her legs. 

Not a trace of green. 

If she were a few years younger she would have been ecstatic, but Elphaba had seen and done so much that she felt mainly a sense of relief that it had just become so much easier to hide from the Wizard and the people of Oz. They must believe that Dorothy girl had destroyed her now. 

Truly, when she had placed the bucket in the room, she hadn’t expected to live. 

Elphaba’s eyes fell on the pitcher of water that had been placed on the bedside table. For the first time since waking up she felt how dry and raw her throat was. Could she…?

Elphaba stumbled over to the table and took a cautious sip. She winced as the liquid left a trail of pain behind. It was just her skin then. Ah, well. 

She opened the drawer on the front of the table out of idle curiosity, and discovered a tattered, forgotten book of old stories on magic. Not factual, perhaps, but it was bound to give her an idea of the culture of…wherever she was. 

Elphaba clambered back into bed, giving her legs a welcome relief, and made sure she was within easy reach of the drawer. 

She had only made it through a handful of legends, and had gleaned very little aside from the strange names, when she heard footsteps approaching the room. She was cautious and always alert after the few years she’d spent avoiding the Wizard and most of the rest of the people of Oz. Quickly, as the handle turned, Elphaba slipped the book back into the drawer and closed it, before examining the man and woman who were just entering the room. 

The woman was young, about her age, but built more along the lines of Glinda. At the thought of her best friend, Elphaba was forced to bury a pang of regret as her eyes quickly focused on the older man. 

Silver threads ran through his auburn hair and beard, and his brilliant blue eyes twinkled behind half-moon glasses as he studied her with some concern. His nose was crooked, as if it had been broken at least once before, and she blinked in surprise at his flashy purple robes. Elphaba could feel the power surrounding the man like a cloak, and she suppressed a shiver at the thought of being forced to battle him. He exuded authority and charisma, and she felt distinctly uneasy about lying in the bed in such a vulnerable state. 

Elphaba struggled to sit up, even as the other woman protested, and could feel the panic she had pushed away while concentrating on reading return. “Who are you?” she demanded, silently cursing her shaky voice. “Where am I? How did I get here?” 

“It’s all right,” the man said soothingly. “My name is Albus Dumbledore, and this young woman is our nurse, Poppy Pomfrey. You are presently in the Infirmary of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, of which I am the Headmaster. As to how you got here, I do not know. I felt something push at the wards surrounding the castle, and when I went to investigate, I found you lying injured in the snow.” 

Elphaba stared at her lap, trying to make sense of what she was being told. She ran a hand through her hair, pausing momentarily at the sight of her unfamiliar skin-color. 

“I don’t remember much of anything,” she whispered. 

It was not a complete lie, but she certainly wasn’t going to tell them the truth. She had never heard of Hogwarts, and she was quite knowledgeable about geography. A purely magical school would certainly be well-known. Elphaba had no desire to need to go into hiding once more, this time in an unfamiliar country. She vaguely remembered screaming something as she writhed in pain, and wondered if it had been a spell, and where it had sent her. It was conceivable that she had been sent to another world. Perhaps the one the Dorothy girl had come from? 

“How awful,” the nurse – Poppy – said sympathetically, and patted her hand. Elphaba, unused to contact, forced herself not to flinch. 

“Is there anyone we can contact? Anyone that you can remember?” Albus asked. 

“No,” she replied after a convincing pause. “I’m alone.” Her panic was returning. “If…if I could spend the night….I mean, I will be unable to pay, but perhaps there is work I can do in exchange….” 

“That won’t be necessary,” the Headmaster replied kindly. “You are welcome to stay for as long as you wish. Although that does give me an idea.” He hesitated. “You are a witch, are you not? We did not find a wand among your possessions.” 

An image of Galinda in her ridiculous gown, wand and all, flashed before her mind’s eye. 

“Yes, I can do magic. But I don’t remember anything about wands,” Elphaba said cautiously. 

“In that case, we happen to be short one Transfigurations professor. Our current one left several weeks ago, and we have yet to find a replacement. Would you care to teach? Room and board will, of course, be provided.” 

Elphaba was taken aback. “Well, I – I suppose, but I don’t remember anything about Transfiguration, or anything else….” She trailed off uncertainly, and noticed Poppy staring at her superior in surprise. 

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem. Once you’ve recovered we shall take you to purchase a wand and all of the necessary supplies, and then I shall tutor you. Classes won’t resume for about a week, as students are away on winter holiday. The lesson plans for the year have already been prepared, and I’m sure you can be taught the spells you will need to teach for the first few weeks. If you are still unable to regain your memory, well, there is always the summer holidays. If you are willing to work hard?” He watched her over his spectacles as she considered. 

Really, what choice did she have? These people seemed nice, if a little eccentric. And she would need both a place to stay, and a livelihood. She wasn’t a stranger to magic, although this seemed quite different from the spellbook she had used. 

“I’ll do it,” she said firmly. 

“Wonderful,” Albus said cheerfully. “Then it’s settled.” He paused. “Forgive me, but I do not believe I caught your name.” 

Elphaba thought about the names she had run into in the tattered little book, and considered the ones she had liked. After a moment’s hesitation, she spoke. 

“Minerva. Minerva McGonagall.”


	2. Life and Times

_It's gonna take a long time to love  
It's gonna take a lot to hold on  
It's gonna be a long way to happy, yeah  
Left in the pieces that you broke me into  
Torn apart but now I've got to  
Keep on rolling like a stone  
Cause it's gonna be a long long way to happy_

_Left my childhood behind  
-“Long Way To Happy,” Pink_

Sometimes Elphaba – now Minerva – thought that the green of her skin, rather than being burned away, had simply retreated to the most protected part of her body: her eyes. It was a fanciful thought, and one she rarely entertained. Although it would explain the unnatural depth and intensity of her now green eyes. The first time she gazed into a mirror after her recovery, she had unnerved even herself. And it certainly explained why Poppy, and possibly even Albus, were so uncomfortable when she watched them. 

Her eyes hadn’t escaped the water unscathed, though. Once released, she had reluctantly returned to the Hospital Wing upon discovering that objects near to her appeared blurry. Poppy had informed her that she was far-sighted, and had procured a pair of square spectacles. She only really needed them for reading, but she wore them all the time, as they had become something of a blessing in disguise. The spectacles partially obscured the over saturation of Minerva’s brilliant green eyes. 

Despite the initial mad scramble to learn the spells immediately needed for her first classes, as well as a few incantations for the more likely mistakes, Minerva quickly grew comfortable with her new job. She was not surprised by how quickly she learned the spells and theory, as she had always had a gift for magic. And Dumbledore likely expected that she was at least subconsciously remembered the spells, rather than learning them for the first time. 

Provided, of course, that he believed her story. 

Over the years she had grown closer to Albus, and she knew him well enough to know that he knew Minerva remembered more than she claimed to. He was much cleverer than the dotty old man he often pretended to be, and he often caught her on those rare occasions when she accidentally let slip more than she intended. 

Minerva’s first year of teaching, most of the staff watched her suspiciously, and she couldn’t blame them. Not when she suddenly appeared out of nowhere claiming amnesia, and so many of them still remembered the horrors of the Dark Lord Grindelwald and World War II. And she had never been very outgoing, her years on the run making sure that she was cautious and skittish in the halls, withdrawn in others’ company. Albus had been the only one to stubbornly chip at the walls she had erected to protect herself and her heart. She knew that at least part of his motivation was a desire to keep an eye on her, to discover more about her, and make sure that she wasn’t a danger to the students. 

Minerva couldn’t blame him for that either. 

But Albus had also honestly wanted to be her friend, wanted her to open up because it was unhealthy to shut herself away from the world. Slowly, ever so slowly, his patience had been rewarded. For the first time since Glinda’s betrayal and Fiyero’s death, Minerva allowed herself to speak easily in someone else’s presence, and even on rare occasions laugh. 

The first time she had laughed since arriving at Hogwarts she had been so surprised…. Albus had looked rather smug, too. 

Eventually, as the members of the staff were slowly replaced by younger witches and wizards, Minerva’s lack of a past was slowly being forgotten. They made more of an effort to get to know the Transfiguration Professor, and although she never let any get as close as Albus, they respected and liked her. It was a flattering feeling, one Minerva didn’t think she had ever known.

By some strange quirk of fate, Minerva found that she had a true talent in the Transfiguration field, more so than the other subjects. After she had finally managed to learn everything that she would have, had she attended Hogwarts as a student, she once again turned her focus to Transfiguration. The Headmaster, a former Transfiguration professor himself, had proved invaluable in helping her to acquire an Animagus form, a cat, which she found exceedingly useful in wandering around quietly and inconspicuously. Old habits died hard, after all. At the moment she was well on her way to a Mastery in Transfiguration. 

There were other things Minerva taught herself in secret. She still plowed through increasingly advanced spells and potions, but she could feel troubled times coming upon them in the near future, and she had taken it upon herself to study the Dark Arts in secret, even if she had never attempted anything beyond what required her own blood as payment. Some of the spells and potions were truly disturbing, and she couldn’t imagine anyone desiring to inflict such harm on others. Perhaps not even the ‘wonderful Wizard of Oz.’

She also had many of the spells from her Grimmorie memorized, and she took care to make sure she didn’t forget any of them. That magic was like nothing in this new world, and it would definitely give Minerva an advantage should she find herself needing one. 

Thoughts of her book of spells brought to mind her friend Glinda. Minerva hoped she was taking good care of the Grimmorie. 

Minerva was abruptly yanked from her thoughts when she realized that there was a wizard she had never seen before heading away from the Headmaster’s office. She had been on her way to speak with Dumbledore about a discrepancy in the timetables, and had couldn’t for the life of her recall whether he had mentioned having an appointment or not.

They slowed as their paths met, and she watched him calmly, hiding her unease as his dark eyes looked her over. He absently brushed black hair out of his face, and then inclined his head towards her. “My name is Tom Riddle, but please, call me Voldemort.” He grasped her hand, and brought her knuckles to his lips with a charming grin. “And who might I have the pleasure of meeting?” 

“Minerva McGonagall,” she said quietly, nodding in acknowledgement as she examined him curiously. Her eyes, glowing and free of her glasses at the moment, met his, and only practice kept her from shuddering or crying out. 

“Well met, Miss McGonagall,” he said. She could tell that her eyes made him uneasy, though he hid it well. “But you must forgive me for rushing off after making the acquaintance of such a lovely lady. I am meeting several of my friends at the pub in Hogsmeade.” 

“Of course,” she said graciously, and watched him walk away, resisting the urge to lean against the wall as her legs threatened to give out. 

“Droobles,” she murmured to the stone gargoyle, giving it an absent pat as it leapt aside and she ascended the stairs. “Headmaster?” she called as she entered. 

“Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall,” he said quietly. Minerva noticed that he seemed slightly more subdued than usual as she considered his still form. “What can I do for you?” 

“I passed a wizard on my way to see you,” she said at last. “He went by the name of Voldemort.” 

Dumbledore’s gaze sharpened at that, and he asked, “What did you think of him?” Unless she was very much mistaken, Minerva detected both anger and concern in his eyes. She wondered if his concern was for her or because of her. 

“He seemed very friendly and rather charming,” she said carefully. 

The Headmaster appeared to tense at her observation. Minerva wished she knew why. “Why was he here?”

“He wished to apply for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position.” 

“Did you give it to him?” 

He shook his head and replied, “I had grave misgivings about letting him on the staff.” 

Minerva expelled the breath she did not realize she had been holding and said, “Good.” 

Albus arched an eyebrow in surprise. “How so? I thought you liked him.” 

“I could see behind the façade, Albus.” She turned her haunted gaze to him. “Behind that mask I could tell that there was hatred and evil festering in him, blood and Dark Magic. I would never allow him near the children if it were within my power to stop him.” 

Minerva had discovered a distinct advantage to being flung into a new world, fully grown and experienced in magic. Having never encountered this particular brand of witchcraft and wizardry, she could easily detect the differences in the air, sense where magic had been used and eventually what type of magic had been used. On rare occasions she could almost see it, so long as she wasn’t wearing her glasses. It was a talent she carefully cultivated, one that few wizards and witches retained after being steeped in the Wizarding World for most of their life. 

Albus watched her thoughtfully, and Minerva waited patiently for him to speak. 

“I’m sure you have noticed the increasing number of disappearances lately, as well as the rumors of Dark rituals and muggle baiting becoming steadily more vicious.” 

Minerva paled, and she gazed out the window. “I see,” she said softly. Even here she couldn’t be free of the oppression and struggles for power.

“You’ve always been a quick study, my dear,” he said with a smile. 

“Then you shouldn’t be surprised when I ask what plans you have put into motion.”

He chuckled outright at that, and motioned for her to take a seat. “I actually did need to speak with you, Minerva. What would you think of becoming Head of Gryffindor House and Deputy Headmistress?” 

She stared at him, caught completely off guard by this tangent. “But…I’ve never been Sorted,” she protested weakly. “And the Hat can’t sort adults with any accuracy.” 

Dumbledore waved away her concern. “It’s simply a tradition, and we seem to be short of Gryffindors on staff this year. I have no doubt you would have been an exemplary Gryffindor, should the Hat have chosen to put you there.” 

“And Deputy? I don’t have any experience. I’m one of the youngest here, and I’ve taught less than a decade. Albus, what are you thinking?” After everything she had gone through in Oz, she had wanted to fade into the woodwork. She would have been content to simply be another professor, and now he was doing this to her.

“Minerva, you have proven to be a responsible, dedicated, intelligent witch, and a wonderful professor. I have no doubt that you will do remarkably even with these additional responsibilities, and you were at the top of my list.” He regarded her earnestly, and she narrowed her eyes at him, desperately suppressing a blush. “I trust you with this.” 

He trusted her with everything except her past. Minerva knew it. She understood. 

And she had never been one to step back when confronted with a way to right any wrongs. Her past experiences proved this. 

Minerva McGonagall – once Elphaba Thropp – met his gaze squarely. 

“All right.”


	3. Rise and Fall

_Oracle of the Delfian Domine_  
Witness of Adam’s frailty  
Seer of the master prophecy  
The stellar world her betrothed 

_Wanderers in cosmic caravan_  
Universal bone – The Starborn  
-“Stargazers,” Nightwish 

A few days after becoming a Transfigurations Mistress, Minerva went to see Filius about dueling lessons. She had never before dueled with magic, as Madame Morrible had avoided direct confrontation. Instead, Minerva had developed techniques for fighting against large groups of magic-less soldiers, which inevitably included hit and run tactics and large bursts of destructive magic. She doubted her past experience would be of assistance in fighting magic in this world. 

She was a fairly quick learner and in only a few months spells had become second nature, requiring no more than a moment’s thought to defend against and counterattack. Filius kindly taught her for nearly a year before declaring that he could do no more and all that was left for her to do was to gain experience against various wizards and witches. Just in time as well, as Voldemort declared war soon after, and Minerva joined the battle where needed. Although dueling helped her reactions quite a bit, battle was nothing like the structured sport. But Minerva adapted, as she always did, and became a force to be feared, her near death experiences becoming fewer as she gained experience. 

Her best skills, however, lay more in the direction of espionage. Albus created the Order of the Phoenix shortly after war was declared, and she had become the Order’s spy. She’d had practice, after all, and it was with great relief that she no longer had to deal with green skin and voluminous veils. As magic could be sensed and glamours seen through, Minerva became familiar with Muggle hair dyes, cosmetics, and colored contact lenses. She knew how to remain unobtrusive, how to tail someone, how to walk silently, and how to act as if she belonged, as both woman and cat. She could lie effectively and could protect herself both with magic and without. It was actually a fair bit simpler in some ways this time around than it had been in her past life. 

And Minerva’s talents were definitely needed. The Order was woefully unprepared for the dark times they faced. 

 

Minerva was curled up on one end of the sofa in the staff room, eyes closed and head tilted back. She had spent the weekend spying in both forms with nothing to show for it except for what brand of alcohol Death Eaters appeared to prefer. To top it all off, it had begun to rain halfway through her mission. Her entire wardrobe was heavily warded against water, but as a cat the spells functioned at only a fraction of their strength. She had had no choice but to curl up in a tree and hope it would stop soon, as any spell she cast would trigger the wards. 

As a result, Minerva was exhausted, sore, and had yet to grade the 5th and 6th year essays that were piled on the table in the corner of the room. Her head was throbbing, and her hair was, for the first time in a long time, flowing unhindered down to her waist in an effort to alleviate the pain. She noted absently that her hair had become rather long. 

The staff room was rather more quiet than usual, her colleagues sensing Minerva’s mood and unwilling to invoke her fearsome temper. The atmosphere became rather more tense, however, when Sybill Trelawney, not known for her sensibility, entered the room. 

Sybill, self-proclaimed Seer, had decided to latch onto Minerva, much to her irritation, in an attempt to change her uncomplimentary opinion of the chancy, imprecise, easily fraudulent art of Divination. Needless to say, Sybill’s interference served only to worsen her hatred of the subject. Sometimes it was all Minerva could do not to hex the woman silly. 

Well, sillier. 

“Sybill,” growled Minerva, cracking open one eye as she attempted to ignore the Divination professor’s twittering about tea leaves and future deaths. “Kindly take your predictions and – ” she caught Albus’ eye and changed what she was about to say to, “remove yourself elsewhere. I have a headache, I have papers to grade, and I have 7th year Gryffindors and Slytherins first thing tomorrow morning.” 

Several other professors winced in sympathy. 

“Minerva,” Sybill said in misty, almost reproachful tones. “Look beyond the mundane, put your faith in the predictions of those who have the ability to see beyond the here and now, or doom shall fall upon you.” 

Minerva leapt to her feet in fury, for the moment ignoring the fact that her head felt as though it were about to split open. “Damn it, Sybill!” she snapped as her colleagues watched, wide-eyed. Minerva McGonagall never cursed, and rarely yelled. Her sharp tongue and biting wit was generally more than enough to cut someone down to size. “I See enough death and destruction without you making up visions!” 

Then her mind caught up with her mouth, and she flinched minutely. At least her wording was innocuous enough that most of the professors wouldn’t pick up on her slip. 

Minerva glanced at Albus out of the corner of her eye. He was watching her with dawning comprehension. 

“Damn it,” she cursed again, and stormed out of the staff room. 

The short journey to her chambers was a blur. She didn’t bother to light up her room, and as soon as she had tossed back a Pain Relief Potion, she collapsed on her bed. As Minerva quickly slipped off to sleep, she thought she heard the faint notes of a phoenix song. 

She awoke a few hours later, having missed dinner but feeling marginally better for her nap. A soft crooning caused Minerva to glance toward the foot of her bed, and she was unsurprised to see Fawkes perched there. He had often come to watch over her or keep her company, and she was uncertain whether Albus asked him to, or whether Fawkes visited of his own volition. Regardless, he was a wonderful creature. And Minerva was willing to bet that Albus’ trust in her had sprung from his familiar’s liking of the ebony-haired witch. Phoenixes had many talents, among which was identifying those who were trustworthy and pure of heart. 

“Hello, Fawkes,” she murmured as she sat up, and he glided over to her, alighting on her shoulder and rubbing his feathered head against her cheek. He chirped for a moment, and she felt the better for it. “Thank you.” 

Once he was sure she was feeling more like herself, Fawkes extended a claw. 

Minerva had been expecting this. 

She relieved the bird of his burden, and skimmed the contents of the note. So. Albus wanted to meet her for a game of chess in his rooms. 

She sighed, letting the letter rest in her lap, and absently stroked Fawkes as she stared blankly at the wall, deep in thought. The witch had two options really. She could avoid him and confirm his suspicions. Or, she could go and attempt to convince him that she wasn’t hiding anything. 

Minerva laughed bitterly. So many secrets. She certainly wasn’t up to her usual standards tonight, and it would take everything she had to conceal something from Dumbledore if he suspected anything. He would draw it out of her either way. 

“All right, Fawkes. The Headmaster is waiting.” 

She left her dark rooms with Fawkes balancing easily on her shoulder. At least this way she had a chance. 

Albus greeted her as per usual, and Minerva forced herself to at least appear relaxed. He offered her food, having noticed that she had skipped dinner, but she declined, not feeling at all hungry. Her stomach was twisting itself up in knots. 

“Hot chocolate, then?” he asked with a smile. 

“All right,” she agreed, with a faint answering smile that quickly disappeared. She had grown fond of the hot drink, and it wasn’t as if she could drink tea. 

Once they were properly situated, the game began. “Pawn to E5,” she murmured. 

“Have you ever wanted children?” Albus asked after a few moments of silence. 

Minerva fixed her gaze on the chessboard, a wave of panic sweeping through her. He couldn’t do this to her. Was he simply trying to calm her with an appearance of normality, or was he hoping to catch her off guard? During their weekly chess games the two discussed nearly anything and everything that came to mind. She just wished he would get his interrogation over with. 

It took her a moment to realize that the older wizard was waiting for her response. 

“I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I will probably never have children,” she said at last. Despite the matter-of-fact presentation, Albus could detect a certain longing running beneath the statement. 

“Why ever not?” he asked, surprised. 

Minerva’s knight annihilated one of his pawns. 

“I would need a man to be interested in me for one,” she pointed out dryly. 

A flicker of some nameless emotion flashed within the Headmaster’s bright blue eyes, but the Transfigurations Mistress was still staring at the board in thought. 

“And,” she continued softly, “I was born with several abnormalities. I would never chance condemning a child to that kind of hell. Pawn to G3,” she said quickly before Albus could speak. 

Albus’ bishop crushed it.

“Besides,” Minerva said lightly as she finally looked up at her opponent. “The students are my children, are they not? Although I doubt they know it.”

“Minerva,” he said quietly, at a loss for words. 

“Just ask your questions, Albus. Isn’t that why you asked me to come tonight?” 

He flinched at her tone.

“All right,” Dumbledore conceded looking tired and regretful, and peered at her over his half moon spectacles. “Would one of these abnormalities be the talent of a Seer?” 

Minerva sighed. “You could say that,” she admitted. “Although I don’t so much see the future as get impressions of future events. Rarely do I know the when and where.” 

Even after all of these years, there was one vision Minerva could never forget. Back when she had been young and naïve, back when she thought the Wizard was powerful and wonderful. She had had a vision of a celebration throughout Oz that was all to do with her. She had been thrilled, so certain that with the help of the Wizard she could do so much good. 

And look where she was now. Minerva was under no delusions. She knew that the celebration she had Seen had to do with her death. 

It was strange though. She had only had a handful of visions when she had resided in Oz. But ever since she had passed into this world, she had several visions a year. And so few of them were pleasant. She was so tired of seeing blood, death, and evil. 

“How will you use me now, Albus Dumbledore?” she asked coldly, bright green eyes fixed firmly on the chessboard. “Where does this curse fit into your battle plans?” 

Albus reeled back as if she had struck him. 

Unable to bear the silence, Minerva stood to leave. In a flash the wizard was at her side, a hand on her arm to stop her. 

“Minerva. Minerva, look at me,” he ordered quietly. 

Reluctantly, she turned and met his piercing gaze. He was watching her, completely serious, bright blue eyes devoid of any twinkling, no sign of the cheerful, slightly barmy mask in his countenance. 

“I won’t deny that I have a habit of being manipulative,” Dumbledore began. “But I swear to you, I will never force you to reveal your secrets, and I will never share what I learn with others unless I have your express permission. You are not some pawn. But please don’t try to push me away,” he pleaded. 

Minerva narrowed her eyes, as if examining his truthfulness, and he waited patiently, but did not release his hold on her arm. 

Abruptly she seemed to sag, her gaze softening, and she impatiently flicked her long, dark hair behind out of her way. “I’m sorry, Albus,” she apologized softly. 

He drew her stiff form toward him, hugging her as he breathed a sigh of relief. “That bad?” he murmured. 

“You have no idea,” she replied wearily. “I _am_ sorry. I just….” 

“You just have very strong defenses to protect yourself with,” he completed. 

“Yes,” Minerva agreed, stepping back as Albus released her. 

 

Minerva was in something of a daze as she paced in the Headmaster’s office, waiting for Albus to return from wherever he had gone after leaving Harry Potter at 4 Privet Drive. Her heart ached when she thought about Lily and James. Two of ‘her’ children. So many dead, dying, or in Azkaban. 

Those two had been so _happy_ as students. The way James’ eyes had lit up with mischief. Lily’s fiery temper. Their ecstasy when Lily safely gave birth to a baby boy. Sirius’ pride, and Remus’ serene joy, Peter’s happy smile. All underscored by the fear of Voldermort’s reign of terror. 

Now three of ‘her’ children were dead, one on his way to Azkaban, and the last left alone. And Harry Potter, the boy responsible for the defeat of the Dark Lord, had been sent to live with people who would treat him no better than they would a worthless object. 

Had she been anyone else, Minerva would have been in tears, but she had learned long ago how not to cry. She didn’t want to burn on top of everything else.

Her thoughts had become increasingly morose when Albus appeared in burst of flames with Fawkes perched on his shoulder. “Hello, my dear,” he greeted cheerfully. “Why aren’t you out celebrating? You should be rejoicing with the rest of the Wizarding World.” 

“I’m happy,” she said with a faint smile and a shrug. “We’re free of the reign of terror and the Order can be disbanded. But despite what he did, despite the deaths, the fear, the torture, despite everything he stood for, I cannot bring myself to celebrate the fact that someone was killed. Even if it was Voldemort.” 

The situation hit too close to home, although Minerva knew that the atrocities committed were no propaganda, and she was under no delusions that he didn’t thrive on pain and misery. 

She shook her head. “But that’s not what we’re here to talk about. Albus, why on earth are you condemning Harry to live with those muggles?” 

“He will be safe there,” the Headmaster replied simply. 

“But will he be safe from his relatives?” Minerva arched an eyebrow. “Honestly, have you truly thought this through? Do you have any idea how it feels to be treated as less than human by people who are supposed to care for you?” 

She looked away, frustrated with herself for revealing so much. 

“Minerva, at least he will be protected from any wizards bent on seeking revenge, and be able to grow up away from a world that would idolize and use him. It won’t be easy for him, I know. But I truly think this is for the best.”

Minerva sighed. “I don’t know if I will ever agree with this, and I certainly won’t be happy about it. But if you believe that this is for the best, then I will support you.” 

“Thank you,” he replied quietly, his eyes following her figure as she left his office.


	4. Escapes and Recovery

_We cared, you took_  
You fought, we lost  
Not the war but an unfair fight  
Sceneries painted beautiful in blood  
-“Creek Mary’s Blood,” Nightwish 

Minerva remembered last summer when Albus had told her about the Ministry’s decree. That if he couldn’t find someone to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, the Ministry would appoint Dolores Umbridge as the professor. Her mind quickly connected the dots, and she shook with both fear and rage. The Ministry of Magic was meddling with the affairs of Hogwarts, a private institution, and no good would come of it, if the derogatory articles about Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore were anything to go by. It would be the Wizard of Oz all over again if it couldn’t be prevented. 

Then her Seer talents had kicked in. That foul _woman_ would put her students, _her children_ , in danger. Minerva had shouted at Dumbledore and he let her rage, only stopping her tirade when one of his silver instruments was instantaneously reduced to ash in a fit of accidental magic. She had paused, surprised, as she had never before done any sort of accidental magic. 

“Calm down Professor McGonagall,” he had said in an effort to allow her to regain her composure. 

She had taken a deep breath, and then spoken with a vicious scowl worthy of Severus.

“I _refuse_ to let that Umbridge woman anywhere near the students.”

Despite their frantic efforts, however, they hadn’t been able to procure a DADA professor. And so, Dolores Umbridge arrived, every bit as bad as Minerva had feared, and in many cases worse. 

Then came the night when Cornelius Fudge, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Dawlish, and Percy Weasley arrived in the Headmaster’s, the Minister’s face a picture of unholy glee. Shortly afterward, Umbridge marched in with Potter, and Minerva’s heart sank. Things went by so quickly, but she could see what Dumbledore was up to. She responded to the jibes viciously and sarcastically, attempting to draw this out as long as possible, hoping that they would stop to argue with her, as she racked her brain in an effort to find some other solution, some other way. But there was too little time. 

“He will not be single-handed!” she cried, but Dumbledore shot her down with the only reprimand that could. Hogwarts, her students, needed her, now that he would be on the run. 

Minerva saw him go for the wand. She could feel the power gathering for a spell, sensitive to it because of years of close friendship, and she grabbed Edgecombe and Potter, yanking them to the ground as the spells flew. Dust billowed, and traces of powerful magic hung heavy in the air when she noticed Albus approaching. 

“Are you all right?” said Dumbledore.

“Yes!” she said, getting up and dragging the two children with her. 

“Unfortunately, I had to hex Kingsley too, or it would have looked very suspicious,” he said in a low voice. “He was remarkably quick on the uptake, modifying Miss Edgecombe’s memory like that while everyone was looking the other way – thank him for me, won’t you, Minerva?”

Harry, she noticed, was looking increasingly guilty, and Marietta still looked rather glassy-eyed. 

“Minerva, you must let Umbridge have her way.” 

She froze, indignation and anger sweeping through her body. A sharp, agitated wave of her hand had put the rest of the room into stasis, and she faced him, brilliant eyes smoldering with rage. Her spectacles did little to protect Albus from the brunt of her fury, and he suppressed a shiver. There was no doubt his Deputy was powerful, as evidenced by the spell she had cast both wordlessly and wandlessly, and she had quite a temper when provoked. 

“I most certainly will _not_ ,” Minerva hissed dangerously. “Especially not now that she is no longer limited in what she can do. She is become a _tyrant_.” 

Minerva had spent her past life fighting such gross misuse of power, albeit on a somewhat larger scale. She’d be _damned_ if she stood back and let this happen, no matter how much she wanted to run and leave it all behind. 

Dumbledore’s eyes flashed a warning. “That is exactly why you need to be careful. One of us needs to be here for the students and even the staff. As it can no longer be me, you must _not_ give her a reason to be rid of you.” 

They stood, Minerva glowering and Dumbledore meeting her gaze calmly, power fairly simmering under their skin. 

“All right,” she at last relented. “I shall do my best not to openly oppose her.” 

“Minerva – ”

“No, Albus,” she interrupted sharply. “That is all I will concede.” And then, quietly, intensely, “You have no idea what you are asking of me.” He was the only one she would do this for.

Spending years rebelling against people like Umbridge, she refused to let her go about the school unchecked. The pain in her expression gave the Headmaster pause, and he sighed and took one of her hands in his own. “Then that is all I can ask for.” 

They were still for several moments before Minerva withdrew her hand, and Albus dropped his back to his sides. “Tell me, Minerva, let me understand,” he pleaded, but she shook her head and, with a graceful sweep of her arm, motion resumed around them. 

Dumbledore recovered quickly and spoke, more for the benefit of Harry. “Now, they will all awake very soon and it will be best if they do not know that we had time to communicate – you must act as though no time has passed, as though they were merely knocked to the ground, they will not remember – ”

A thought occurred to her. “Where will you go, Dumbledore?” she whispered. “Grimmauld Place?” 

“Oh no,” he said with a grim smile. “I am not leaving to go into hiding. Fudge will soon wish he’d never dislodged me from Hogwarts, I promise you…” _You know how to contact me_ , his expression said.

Minerva felt a vindictive sort of pleasure at his words. She had never thought much of this Minister, after all. 

Harry spoke then, and she could tell he felt terrible for what had happened this night. But time was running short, and Dumbledore spoke to him, urgency causing him to cut off whatever Harry was struggling to say. She was distracted from his words, however, for as soon as the Headmaster’s fingers closed over the boy’s wrist, Minerva felt some dark power flare up inside of Harry, and his expression twisted into something strained and confused. 

Then Albus and Fawkes had disappeared, as did the dark energy, and incompetence reached new heights as the others in the room ran about in an effort to locate and arrest her best friend. 

 

Minerva had been grading papers when she had the uneasy feeling that something wasn’t right in the school. She checked the time. Fifth years would be in the middle of their Astronomy O.W.L. The examiners should be handling that. So what was it?

She set down her quill and slowly made her way to the Entrance Hall. That was when she heard the shouting. A quick glance out the doors told her all she needed to know, and a blinding fury took hold of her. How dare they? Just as prejudiced against magical creatures as the Wizard made Oz against the Animals. Minerva had gone away to escape all of this!

Minerva broke into a run, sprinting towards Hagrid and the Aurors who were attempting to take him down. 

“How dare you! How _dare_ you!” 

She could barely think, her concentration narrowing until the fight was all she saw. 

“Leave him alone! _Alone_ , I say! On what grounds are you attacking him? He has done nothing, nothing to warrant such – ”

She deeply regretted how her anger had blinded her. She had no time to block or dodge when, without warning, four Stunners hit her in the chest. Pain exploded outward from her abdomen, and all she could see was the bright red afterglow. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, and she was reminded of the last time she had been so helpless, in so much pain, when she had been soaked by a bucket of water and landed in a snowdrift. 

A feeling of shame washed through her at her irresponsibility. The students, who would take care of them now? And Hagrid – 

Minerva never felt her body hit the ground. 

 

Hagrid was nearly bawling when he finally arrived at 12 Grimmauld Place, still carrying Fang. Sirius, Remus, Bill, and Molly were there, but the half-giant only had eyes for Dumbledore, who, as luck would have it, had dropped by for the evening. 

“Hagrid, my friend, what is wrong?” he asked alarmed, as Molly shoved a large plate of food at the large man and ordered him to sit. 

“I – I was in my ‘ouse when tha’ Umbridge woman came with three other men. They was tryin’ to take me in, or sommat, an’ I wasn’ having any o’ tha’ when Professor McGonagall comes runnin’ out, ordering ‘em ta stop. An’ – an’…” Hagrid trailed off, unable to speak further as sobs overtook him. The other four were staring at him, eyes wide, faces worried. 

To Dumbledore, it felt as if some giant hand was squeezing his heart, constricting his lungs, and he asked in a strange, strained voice, “Hagrid, what happened?” 

“They shot four Stunners at ‘er, and they all hit ‘er direc’ly in the chest, withou’ any warnin’!” he burst out, his tone a mixture of indignant anger and fearful sorrow. “I dunno wha’ happened after tha’, I don’t!”

Remus and Sirius swore, Bill gasped, and Molly let out a little scream. 

Albus’ face became ashen, and for a moment he couldn’t move. When he did, he rose slowly. His eyes were a cold, hard blue, and power crackled in the air around him, causing the others to draw back. “I see,” he said slowly. “In that case, I believe I shall find out.” 

Before anyone could stop him, he apparated away with a loud _crack!_

“What is he going to do?” Sirius asked apprehensively at the same time that Molly wrung her hands and murmured, “Oh, I hope Minerva will be all right.” 

“He’s most likely on his way to Hogwarts. Hopefully the Hog’s Head is his Apparition point and Aberforth can keep him from doing anything too rash,” Remus replied gravely. “We’ll simply have to wait for Severus or Poppy to contact us.”

The kitchen lapsed into silence.

 

The first thing Minerva noticed when she regained consciousness was the pain. This seemed familiar. Had that Dorothy girl dowsed her in water again? She had only gotten her chest, luckily enough, although her head hurt as well. 

But no, that wasn’t right. Dorothy was back in Oz, or had been. She wasn’t in Oz. And then memory of the attack crashed down on her, but she had no energy to work herself up into a fury over Umbridge.

Minerva suddenly became aware of someone holding her hand, lightly stroking the back of it. Who…? She drew in a deep breath, in preparation of shifting to the side and opening her eyes. That was a mistake. It felt as if someone was attempting to split her chest open, and spots of pain blossomed behind her closed eyes. A pitiful moan escaped her lips, and she frantically resisted allowing any tears to escape. The witch barely noticed when the hand stroking hers paused.

“Minerva?” 

The voice was hoarse, but she recognized it immediately. Forcing her eyes open, she blinked blearily up at her visitor, a grimace of pain on her face. 

“Albus?” she managed to whisper. She caught such a look of intense relief cross his features that it frightened her a bit. And then he was smiling down at her, a twinkle in his eye, although she could tell that something had happened while she was out. Unable to recognize the room she was in, Minerva assumed she had been taken to St. Mungo’s. 

“You…shouldn’t…” she rasped, struggling to tell him to get away before he was spotted, but he anticipated what she was trying to say. 

“Don’t worry Minerva. Things have occurred while you’ve been unconscious. I am once again Headmaster, and Dolores Umbridge is no longer disposed toward teaching.” At the mention of the woman’s name his eyes hardened, but Minerva was too distracted by her own feeling of triumph to notice. “In addition, the Ministry has been forced to acknowledge Voldemort’s return.”

She opened her mouth in another attempt to speak, but didn’t get very far before coughing. Had it not been for the intense pain and Albus’ presence, Minerva would have curled in on herself and allowed the tears to fall, regardless of how much worse it would make her feel. As it was, she managed to turn onto her side, and he rubbed soothing circles on her back as she trembled from the strain. 

“Let’s get you something to drink,” Dumbledore suggested, and summoned the glass of water. 

Minerva’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “Not water,” she croaked. “Juice?”

If he thought her apprehension strange, he didn’t show it, and the battered witch gratefully soothed her throat. “Thank you. How was Hagrid?”

“He and Fang both made it safely to Headquarters. He was certainly in a state as well.” Albus grinned weakly. “Merlin, Minerva, you gave me such a scare. 

“Sorry,” Minerva murmured, resting her eyes. “Foolish.” She grimaced. “Hurts.” 

“Oh, my dear,” he said quietly. “You were very brave.”

“I am…ashamed,” she got out, concentrating on taking shallow breaths so as not to aggravate her injury. “Sorry.”

“Don’t you dare be ashamed, Minerva. You did the best you could, and it was a cowardly attack by them on your person. Hagrid was feeling particularly guilty. He barely slept or ate until we heard that your status was no longer critical.” 

She opened her eyes and gave him a stern look.

“Yes,” he answered her unspoken question. “I and several others spoke with him, and reassured him that he could have done nothing. That none of it was his fault.” 

“Nor yours,” she added firmly, and the fleeting expression of guilt that appeared in his features told Minerva that she had read him correctly. 

“You gave your students quite a scare as well. The fifth years saw you while they were taking their Astronomy O.W.L.”

Minerva winced. 

He continued in a slightly vengeful tone that she didn’t recall ever hearing from him before. “I doubt Dolores got much of anything done after that.” He favored her with a grin. “I know how you believe your students don’t know how much you care for them. I would say that they have a fairly good idea, and return your sentiments amply.” Albus gestured to the room around them, and for the first time Minerva noticed the flowers, cards, and gifts that littered the nearby surfaces. Her eyes widened and her throat constricted with feeling, unable to say anything. 

Instead, she concentrated on his face. “What’s happened…with Harry?” 

Albus arched an eyebrow in inquiry. 

“Always have…a look about you when…Harry’s in danger,” she replied to his unspoken question. 

“You know me too well, my dear,” he commented in an attempt at humor. “Perhaps we should wait until you have recovered…?” 

“No.” Implacable.

He relented. 

“Harry received a vision – a false vision – that Sirius was being tortured and held in the Department of Mysteries’ Hall of Prophecies. After losing Dolores in the Forest, he, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, Miss Weasley, Mr. Longbottom, and Miss Lovegood set out on thestrals to reach the Ministry. Upon finding that Sirius was nowhere in sight, he discovered and retrieved the prophecy concerning him. That was when the Death Eaters attacked.” 

“The children,” Minerva began, fear evident in her eyes. 

“Are safe,” Albus reassured her. “Their injuries have been tended to and none of them died. The Order arrived just in time, and the Death Eaters were captured.” 

The injured witch noticed his hesitation. “Tell me,” she ordered. 

He sighed and squeezed her hand, hoping to impart some comfort. “Minerva, my dear, I’m sorry. Sirius is dead. He fell through the Veil.” 

The bottom dropped out of her stomach, and she stilled. “No,” she whispered. 

It wasn’t fair. They had never cleared his name. He had only escaped from Azkaban two years ago. She remembered his quick grin as a student, the outrageous cheek, and puppy-dog eyes that hadn’t completely been overshadowed by twelve years in Azkaban with only the dementors and knowledge of his innocence for company. Minerva remembered the haunted look in his eyes, the impatience, the fierce love for Harry, and how desperately he had stuck to those he loved. Sirius had gone out the way he would have wanted to, protecting Harry. 

Minerva couldn’t even imagine how it felt for Harry, to lose the only parental figure he had ever known. 

“I’m sorry,” Albus murmured again. “I’ll tell you the rest when you are feeling better.” He stayed by her side until she at last fell asleep, her face still creased in discomfort. Leaning forward silently, he gently pressing a kiss to her brow, and left.


	5. Wind of Memory

_Deep into a dying day_  
I took a step outside an innocent heart  
Prepare to hate me fall when I may  
This night will hurt you like never before 

_Old loves they die hard_  
Old lies they die harder  
-“Wish I Had An Angel,” Nightwish 

Minerva spent the year after the attack reacquainting herself with the spells she remembered from the Grimmorie. It was one thing to memorize the spells, but it was quite another to practice casting them. The Room of Requirement Potter had discovered was the perfect place to brush up on her skills. It had been years since she had last cast an Ozian spell, and even longer since she had been forced to do so in public. During the Marauder’s seventh year, actually.

It was lucky that Albus hadn’t witnessed her spell, she reflected. Minerva and Dee Sorens, the then Muggle Studies Professor, had been chaperoning the Hogsmeade trip. 

_Minerva and Remus Lupin, who was on his way to meet the other three boys, were making idle talk as they walked along the dirt path. Suddenly, she felt something tingling on the edge of her senses, a warning, and she had slowed unconsciously._

_“Professor?” Remus asked, slowing to match her pace. He was puzzled, and a little concerned at her distraction. It wasn’t like her at all. “Are you all right?”_

_She seemed not to hear him, and he was about to ask her again._

_Minerva concentrated, trying to pinpoint what the feeling was, for the moment disregarding Mr. Lupin. She felt the spell then, streaking toward them, powerful and very Dark, and tackled her student to the ground, making sure to keep her body between the teen and the unknown attacker. A sickly purple light shot just over her shoulder._

_“Run!” she shouted, pushing him toward the Three Broomsticks as the Death Eaters appeared behind them. “Get the students and run to the castle!”_

_He sped off with a frightened glance backward, and Minerva turned to face the group. No time to take them on in a duel, she’d have to slow the whole lot of them down to give the children a chance to reach Hogwarts._

_A flick of her wand conjured a large, thick stone enclosure, and another discreetly set up a shield around the area. She suspected that they would attempt to take the easy way out and destroy rather than attempt to banish her creation._

_When they did exactly that, the shrapnel rebounded at twice the speed, greatly injuring two, and killing a third. Dodging the Cruciatus, a wide sweep of her wand sent dust flying directly into their eyes, and they cursed as they lashed out wildly, taking out another two by themselves. A Cutting Curse clipped Minerva’s side as she transfigured one into liquid. A complicated transfiguration, and one impossible to reverse without gathering every last drop._

_Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dee herding the last of the students toward the school at a dead run._

_A little more time, she thought, ignoring the pain in her side as she maneuvered herself so that the Forbidden Forest was directly behind her. She hastily blocked several other Dark spells, but was unable to hold it against the barrage and screamed in pain as a Bludgeoning Hex hit her left arm. At least it wasn’t her wand arm. A handful of pebbles became fireworks in the midst of the remaining Death Eaters, setting robes aflame, and a stick became a rather enraged puma._

_The Death Eaters sufficiently distracted, Minerva slipped off into the forest, keeping to the edges as she silently struggled to catch up with the students and Dee. Just as she managed to do so, emerging from the tree line, she saw three additional figures in dark robes and masks point their wands towards the fleeing teens. Dee had never been much of a fighter, but she stood firm, clearly showing that they would have to go through her to get at her chargers._

_“No!” Minerva shouted, and threw out one arm, chanting one of the strongest protective shields she remembered from the Grimmorie._

_Dee started at the unexpected noise, and had the shield not been in place she would have been dead. Instead, the air directly in front of her seemed to absorb the spells, as well as any that were headed around her and aimed at the students. With a nod of thanks, the Muggle Studies professor took off running, and Minerva held it for a few more moments until a loud crack signaled the arrival of the Aurors._

_None of the students were able to identify what spell she had used, but they felt that was only to be expected, both they and Dee assuming it a more advanced or arcane shield than any they would probably learn. Perhaps the only one at Hogwarts who would be able to tell differently was Albus Dumbledore, and he had not witnessed the spectacle himself, although he gave her considering looks for nearly a month after the event._

_And Remus Lupin still wondered sometimes how she could sense the Death Eaters before he himself was able to, as his werewolf senses were superior to any human’s._

Minerva was certainly losing her touch if Umbridge and her underlings could hit her with four Stunners. 

 

It was after lunch the first weekend in June when the summer storm arrived. The sky grew dark with clouds and many disappointed students retreated to their Common Rooms or the library to study. 

Minerva McGonagall leaned against the window sill in the middle of a deserted corridor. She had been about to close the window when the storm distracted her. Luminous green eyes watched as the trees of the forest bowed down under the constant pressure of the wind, debris flung every which way. A few wisps of hair escaped her severe bun to frame her face, her spectacles safe in her pocket, but the wind was blowing away from this side of the castle for the most part. 

The witch sighed. She hated wind storms with a passion, and had counted her blessings that she hadn’t ended up in a country where tornados were common. They were inevitably linked in her mind to Madame Morrible and the death of Nessa Rose. 

Her melancholy was only increased by the black witch’s hat she wore. That morning she had come across Glinda’s first gift to her. It had been so long since she had last worn it. Minerva’s fingers had run across the brim absently as she remembered the dance that had been a turning point in her life. 

So lost in thought was Minerva that she didn’t notice that the skies let loose sheets of rain until the wind suddenly switched directions, and a large gust showered her with water. She jerked back violently and leapt away, hissing in pain, and flicking her wrist to slam the window closed, not even attempting to go for her wand. The warding against water she had woven into her robes had protected her face, but it was weaker around her hands. 

“I had no idea cats were so violently afraid of water,” a familiar voice drawled. 

She turned to face him, and Severus barely managed to keep from taking a step back as Minerva’s unobstructed gaze met his. He disliked it on those rare occasions when the Head of Gryffindor did not wear her spectacles. Those green eyes were unnatural, unearthly, and they always made him apprehensive. 

Severus did not like being apprehensive. He liked being in control. 

Minerva’s bright green eyes had quite a different effect, however, on the blue-eyed observer in the shadows. 

“Severus,” she acknowledged in a neutral tone. 

The Potions Master raised an eyebrow. “What, no witty retorts? No biting comebacks? No righteous indignation? Cat got your tongue?” His words were harsher than he meant them to be. 

He wished she would put her spectacles on. 

“Severus, please,” she said wearily. “I’m not in the mood to fight right now. Try again in the morning, if you must.” 

Severus noted her pale face and the dark circles under her eyes. She looked exhausted. 

“All right,” he agreed. “I’ll bring you the potion?” 

Minerva nodded, closing her eyes and leaning back against the stone wall as the wizard stalked away. 

 

It was much later that same night when Dumbledore and another woman ran into Minerva and Severus near the Entrance Hall. 

“I shall do my best to help you return to your home, but I’m afraid that we know very little about crossing dimensions,” he said. 

It had taken very little time for them to discover that the blonde had stumbled onto a new world. Surprisingly, it was Dumbledore’s rather bedraggled companion who had come up with the theory. She was, after all, no stranger to such occurrences. After careful questioning, the Headmaster had agreed that it was very likely.

“Ah, here are two of my professors. Severus Snape, Potions Professor, and Minerva McGonagall, Transfigurations Professor.” 

Minerva looked up at the sound of her name and her eyes immediately focused on the woman at Dumbledore’s side. She blanched, and the phial of Dreamless Sleep potion slipped from nerveless fingers, shattering on the cold, stone floor. She wished desperately that she had not picked today of all days to wear her hat. 

Severus frowned and cleaned the mess with a quick, “Scourgify.” Minerva’s hands were trembling so violently, he doubted she would have been able to force her wand through the required movements. Following her gaze, he glared at the strange woman in suspicion. Never before had he seen the Head of Gryffindor in such a state. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” the young woman said uncertainly. She frowned, eyeing Minerva, taking in her appearance. There was something so familiar about this person, she thought to herself. And that hat, it looked like…. No, it _was_ the hat she had given Elphaba all those years ago. She gasped, blue eyes widening in shock as she took in the other woman’s appearance once again. The lack of green skin had prevented her from noticing, but now she couldn’t help but see that this woman looked exactly like Elphaba. 

“ _Elphie?!_ ” she exclaimed in disbelief. 

Minerva took a deep breath to get herself under control. “Hello, Glinda. Still wearing those elaborate confections, I see,” she commented caustically about the large, pink gown that was very much the worse for wear. 

“Did you get here by that ratty old broom you enchanted?” was the only thing Glinda could think to say. 

“Not everyone can travel by bubble,” the witch rejoined. 

The two wizards watched the exchange with bemused expressions. Albus Dumbledore had come to the conclusion that Minerva had come from another dimension all those years ago, and he was uncertain as to how to take that news. This simply served to underscore the fact that his Deputy kept so many secrets to herself. His heart seemed to twist a bit, and he wished desperately that she would trust him enough to confide in him. 

Glinda’s expression was curiously blank, and she slapped Minerva. 

Severus stepped forward, face thunderous. He and his Gryffindor rival had built a sort of friendship based on years of banter and understanding. He would certainly defend her against this interloper. 

The black-haired Animagus motioned him back. He obeyed reluctantly. 

“I deserved that,” she said softly, a hand to her stinging cheek. 

“How dare you,” Glinda hissed. She threw herself at her childhood friend, sobbing into her robes. Minerva awkwardly returned the embrace. “Elphaba, I thought I had left you to die all alone. How dare you let me think you were _dead_. I heard you scream. And that g-girl…. I thought you had _died_ , and everyone was celebrating because of it, and I had to lead the fucking festivities, because I was _Glinda the Good_.” 

“I’m sorry,” Minerva murmured. “I’m sorry. But I couldn’t exactly send a message.” 

“I’m so glad you’re alive.” 

The Transfigurations Mistress glanced over at Albus to see him watching her face intently. He would certainly have come to quite a few conclusions by now, she acknowledged in her head with a mental sigh. And Severus. Her eyes flicked over to where he stood watching the pair with a calculating expression. She reflected that it was a very good thing that he hadn’t been at Hogwarts when she had first arrived from Oz. Albus Dumbledore was bad enough, but between the two of them, she didn’t know whether her past would have remained secret. At least the paper trail Albus had created for her had prevented many suspicions. 

“Come, Glinda. I’ll take you to my rooms. I think we have a lot to discuss.” 

The blonde nodded and straightened, tugging futilely at her dress. 

“She can stay in my guest room,” Minerva informed Albus shortly. She didn’t know what to say to him, what would keep her past safe now that part of it had turned up so spectacularly. She felt so exposed. At least it was several hours after curfew and the students were all in their dorms. 

He simply nodded silently. 

“And don’t you dare eavesdrop on us, Albus Dumbledore,” she called over her shoulder when they were halfway up the main staircase. Minerva didn’t dare turn, didn’t dare meet the penetrating gaze of either man.


	6. Secrets and Stories

_Wannabe friend  
13th disciple who betrayed me for nothing!_

_Last dance, first kiss  
Your touch my bliss  
Beauty always comes with dark thoughts  
-“Wish I Had An Angel,” Nightwish_

Albus tells Severus that Glinda is Minerva’s childhood friend. That she had cut off all ties to her past when she came to teach at Hogwarts. He is feeling rather protective of Minerva, and he can see Severus sharing a similar sentiment, although the younger man will never admit it. Albus reminds himself that she is a strong woman, more than capable of taking care of herself. 

He sees that Severus is still suspicious, but is willing to accept the explanation for now. After all, there is a war being waged at the moment, which takes precedence over a colleague’s unknown past. 

Albus does not even attempt to discover what Minerva and her friend are discussing. She will never trust him if he does. 

But Albus remembers the stranger’s half-hysterical words, and he is unable to dispel images of Minerva screaming in pain, of Minerva dying, of Minerva dead. If a boggart were to appear before him, he knows what form it would take. And there is nothing on earth that could make it funny. 

He has trouble sleeping that night. 

 

Minerva and Glinda sat in the professor’s waiting room, an awkward silence hanging heavy in the air. 

“You look the same,” Minerva said at last, faintly. She noted the almost haunted look in the other woman’s blue eyes, and the way she held herself as if a great responsibility rested on her shoulders. “But you’ve grown up.” 

“I’ve had to.” Glinda couldn’t seem to look away from Minerva. “You look so different, Elphie.” 

“I go by Minerva, now,” she corrected her. “Minerva McGonagall. I’m a professor here, and I teach Transfiguration.”

“A professor? I never imagined.” Glinda’s lips twitched. “It seems a bit tame for you.” 

“Anything but.” Minerva recounted briefly what had happened since Dorothy had attempted to destroy her. 

“How many years?” Glinda asked surprised. 

“About 40,” she replied. 

“It’s only been about four years back in Oz,” the Good Witch of the North said. “Sweet Oz, I need to get back. I can’t be gone for too long, or who knows what she’ll do?” 

“Who?” Minerva asked, worried. “Glinda, what’s happened?” 

She took a deep breath, calming herself. “After you…left, things went by so quickly. I…convinced the Wizard of Oz to return to his own world.” 

“How?” Minerva interrupted, wide-eyed. 

“I broke him,” Glinda said quietly, and then rushed on before the other woman could interrupt. “I had Madame Morrible arrested, her magic bound, and she was sent to jail. I became the leader of Oz, and I slowly managed to restore some of the rights to the Animals, but there were so few left.” Glinda looked away. “I should have kept a better eye on Morrible. Yesterday she managed to escape, and, well, you know how she is with the weather. She came for the Grimmorie, banished me in a tornado, and I landed here. Elph – Minerva I’m so sorry. I tried to hold on to the spell book, I really did. But I’m afraid I lost it.” 

A wave of horror passed through the older witch. “Madame Morrible has the Grimmorie?” she whispered. 

“Oh no,” Glinda said with the faintest expression of triumph. “No, I managed to keep it away from her, and she was furious, the old hag. But I lost it some time before I landed, and I have no idea where it could be.” 

“At least you kept it away from _her_. Glinda, I am proud of you. It sounds like you’ve done a lot of good. Let’s simply assume that the Grimmorie landed in this world. It is rather likely, after all. I know there is a spell in the book to travel dimensions, but I have no idea what it is. I wasn’t exactly conscious when I used it to get here, and I must have used it, although I don’t remember. We’ll simply have to do our best to find it. For now, I think it would be best if we kept your presence a secret. We’re in the middle of a war, and I don’t want you to get hurt. You’ll be needed to defeat Morrible when you return to Oz.” 

Glinda reached out and hugged her old friend tightly. “You have no idea how happy I am that you’re alive,” she murmured, tears in her eyes. 

“Glinda, you must tell me how you managed to break the ‘wonderful Wizard of Oz,’” Minerva said, eyes hardening at the thought of the man. 

She felt the blonde stiffen. 

“I don’t think you want to know.” 

“Tell me,” Minerva ordered, curious. 

“You remember the green glass bottle you carried with you that used to belong to your mother?” Glinda didn’t want to see the impact her words would have on the witch, but she couldn’t seem to look away. 

Minerva nodded. 

“Well, when I came across the Wizard after everyone believed you were dead, I saw him drinking from another green glass bottle.”

“And?” She didn’t understand. On some unconscious level she didn’t want to understand, and so she didn’t. 

“Elphaba.” Glinda paused. There really was no good way to say this. “He was your father.” 

Minerva sucked in a shaky breath. “W-what? But – he can’t….” 

“He and your mother had an affair while her husband was away,” Glinda continued softly. “That’s why you are so powerful. You’re a child of two different worlds. When I confronted him, it broke him to realize that the girl he was trying to destroy was his own daughter. He wasn’t completely heartless, after all. In the end, he sailed away in his balloon. No one knows what’s happened to him.” 

Minerva was shocked. She could barely breathe, barely think. As if from a distance she saw herself direct Glinda to her guest room, show her the bell to ring to summon a house elf should she need anything, lend her robes to wear in the morning. What did it mean? How could she be the daughter of such a person? How, why. She didn’t even know what questions to ask anymore. She was sure she wouldn’t get any sleep tonight as she changed for bed. 

But the nightmares dragged Minerva down almost immediately, and released her only with the ringing of her alarm clock. 

 

Breakfast was a subdued, quiet affair. Minerva had contemplated skipping meals today, but she had to keep up appearances. And Albus should be told that they had decided to keep Glinda’s presence a secret. She picked at her food, talking as little as possible to the Headmaster, and barely lifting her head when Severus passed by. 

“Do you know, Professor McGonagall, if your robes are any indication, you must be a secret Slytherin supporter?” he remarked with a sneer. 

“I like green,” she replied simply, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, as though she were indulging in a private joke. “And I always thought that your robes were meant to reflect your dour personality and vampirish tendencies. But if we are going with House affiliations, you must be a Hufflepuff at heart.” 

Pomona choked on her toast, as those within hearing range sniggered. The Potions Master scowled fiercely and stalked to his usual spot at the end of the table, and Minerva returned to the contemplation of her breakfast, amusement gone as quickly as it had come. Severus’ unique attempt at cheering her up and providing entertainment for himself did not have a very long lasting effect. 

Her mind wandered to the House systems. She knew that people were often surprised that she was strict yet fair in spite of being Head of Gryffindor. They shouldn’t be. She had not grown up with the system or any like it, and she certainly didn’t tolerate prejudice in any form. 

With a sigh, Minerva left the table and went to prepare for her classes. Her colleagues watched her worriedly. They had never seen her so subdued. 

 

“Glinda?” Dumbledore called out softly upon entering Minerva’s rooms. 

The blonde woman emerged from the guest bedroom looking surprised. “Hello, Headmaster. What brings you here?” 

“Minerva told me about the plan to keep your presence here a secret. I must say, I agree that it is the best course.” 

“I’m glad. Although I’m rather surprised that you don’t think I’m part of some sort of plot, as you’re in the middle of a war,” she commented. 

His smile may have been a touch wistful. “Minerva trusts neither easily nor fully, and she seems to trust you.” 

An expression of guilt passed over her features. “No, she wouldn’t would she,” she murmured as if to herself. Then Glinda grinned at him. “You really care about her, don’t you?” 

“She is my oldest and closest friend,” he replied easily. Dumbledore’s gaze became piercing and he said, “You know why she has trouble trusting people?” 

Glinda shifted uneasily. “What has she told you?” 

“She maintains that she suffers from amnesia, and remembers nothing up until she landed on Hogwarts grounds.” 

“Clever,” Glinda commented. “You didn’t believe her, then?” 

“I could tell that she was hiding something.” 

“It’s not my place to tell you about Elph-Minerva’s past.” She examined him for a moment, and nodded, seeming to find what she was looking for. “But, perhaps I can give you a very general idea.” 

Dumbledore leaned forward, focused completely on Minerva’s guest. 

“When she was born she was, well, different. Her mother died when she was young, and her father did not much care for her. But the whole family doted on the younger sister. Minerva was shunned by others, and as such, did not understand or necessarily trust people. I was her first friend, I believe. We were roommates at school, and we fought bitterly at first. And then she was betrayed, by someone everyone thought was a paragon of virtue, by one of her professors, and by myself.” Glinda’s expression was both regretful and bitter. “And that is all I can say. Please, don’t do what I did,” she pleaded. “If you betray her or die, I don’t think she will ever trust anyone again.” 

Albus was silent, processing the information. “Thank you,” he said at last. “I do appreciate this. And I shall do my best to live for her.” 

“I know you will,” Glinda said with a knowing smile. 

He hesitated at the doorway. “Minerva has been acting strangely today. Do you know what is wrong?” 

“It’s not my place to say.” 

Albus nodded, and left. 

 

Lunch and dinner progressed in much the same way, with Minerva eating little, saying less, and leaving quickly. She immersed herself in teaching her classes, but the meaning of Glinda’s words hit her like a bludger each time class ended. 

Around sunset Albus found her in the Astronomy Tower. Her back was to him, and he stood silent in the doorway, watching the last rays of sunlight highlight her ebony hair. 

“It never occurred to me that my biological father was not the man my mother married,” she said, never moving, never turning to look at him. 

Her voice, curiously calm, worried him, and he crossed the room to stand behind her. Carefully, he wrapped his arms around her waist, waiting for her to pull away. She always did, sooner or later. At his touch, Minerva stiffened, but surprised him by leaning back slightly into his embrace. Her shoulders were shaking, but her cheeks were dry. Albus could not remember ever seeing Minerva in tears. 

“And now,” she continued, “I find that the man I hated most, the man who tried to kill me, had an affair with my mother to produce me.” Minerva turned so that she was facing him, resting her head on his chest, fingers toying with his long white beard. The happiness such a small show of trust inspired surprised him. 

“Minerva, please let me help you.” 

She looked up, and was startled by what his bright blue eyes revealed to her. Pain for all the times she wouldn’t trust him, for every time she evaded his questions, for every time she would not let him know what was wrong, for not trusting him with even the smallest scenes of her past. 

“The only things I know about you before you arrived at Hogwarts, you have never shared voluntarily. I have had to examine your words several times, be always ready for even the smallest slip of the tongue, and piece together what little I knew. I wish you would trust me.” 

Minerva was taken aback. She had never known the power she had to hurt Albus so deeply. 

“Will you tell me?”

Her eyes dropped to where her fingers toyed with his beard. And for the first time in forty years her answer changed. 

“Maybe.”


	7. Past and Present

_A wintry eve_  
Once upon a tale  
An Ugly Duckling  
Lost in a verse  
Of a sparrow's carol  
Dreaming the stars  
-“Swanheart,” Nightwish 

“Minerva, please. You have neither the time, nor the connections to find the Grimmorie. We don’t even know if it landed in this world,” Glinda said. 

Minerva shook her head. “It has. It’s just a feeling, but I’m sure that it’s in this world.” She sighed. “But you’re right. I wouldn’t even know where to begin looking if I had time to go haring off on a treasure hunt.” 

She sat at her desk, quill scratching away on parchment as she relaxed in the blessed silence. School was out for the summer, and the students were gone. Glinda had a bit more freedom to move around, although she was still fairly restricted. Surprisingly enough, she didn’t seem to mind being holed up in Minerva’s guest chamber. They really were very different people, Minerva mused. Had she been in the same position, she would have been chafing at the restrictions, restless and ill-tempered. 

“Ask the Headmaster,” her blonde companion said suddenly. 

Her quill paused. “Albus would be an ideal choice. He does have a way of finding what he wants, no matter how obscure,” she commented thoughtfully. “But his questions….” She tensed as she always did when she thought about the meeting on the Astronomy Tower, the way his voice pleaded her, the hurt hidden in his eyes. To speak with him about her past….

It had been nice, those moments in which he had comforted her. Nobody had ever done such a thing for her before. Nobody had ever wanted to. She found herself wishing that she could cry, envying those who could. It seemed like it would be a wonderfully refreshing thing to do. 

She had caught such a strange expression on his face, one she couldn’t interpret. When she closed her eyes to try, an image of Fiyero had appeared before her mind’s eye. It confused her. Minerva hadn’t thought of Fiyero in such a long time, why was she thinking of him now?

“Tell him,” Glinda said firmly. 

Minerva looked at her startled. 

“You two have been friends since you first landed here. I think the Headmaster deserves to know.” 

She wanted to deny it, wanted to say that he deserved no such thing. But it was a lie. He did, he deserved so much more. 

“What are you afraid of?” 

Minerva’s head snapped up, a scowl on her face. “I am _not_ ….” But she was afraid, and she knew it. She sighed, rubbing at her temples to stave off a growing headache. “What will he think of me, Glinda? Even you don’t know everything I did and would have done during those few years when I opposed the Wizard. He will see it, or guess at it, and what will become of me without his friendship?” She stared fixedly at her hands, willing them to stop trembling. Really, she shouldn’t be getting worked up. It was not at all helpful. 

Smooth, cool hands covered her own. “Oh, Elphie,” Glinda murmured, automatically using her old nickname when she had something important to say. “I wish so much that I could go back and redo everything. Your life was just one betrayal after another, and you are the last person in the world who deserves such a thing. I am glad that you had Fiyero, for a small while at least. But listen to me. Albus Dumbledore could no sooner cut off his friendship with you than cut out his own heart. He’d forgive you almost anything.” 

“That’s a bit melodramatic, isn’t it?” Minerva commented, raising a skeptical eyebrow. 

_But true_ , Glinda thought to herself, suppressing a grin. 

Minerva looked away, absently biting her lip. “All right,” she says at last, and returns to her work. 

Glinda is aware that this is a great victory. She also knows that her friend will tell him on her own time, in her own fashion. She’s not worried, because Minerva has as good as promised. And she doesn’t break her promises. 

 

“Albus?” 

Dumbledore looked up from his desk, and his expression brightened. “Ah, Minerva. What can I do for you my dear?”

She appeared apprehensive, as she approached his desk, and he grew concerned. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked. 

She took a deep breath, forcing her nerves to calm down. “I have a favor to ask, Albus.” 

He nodded. “I shall do my best to fulfill it.” 

“There was a book Glinda was guarding. The Grimmorie, a book of spells.” Minerva briefly described its appearance. “She lost hold of it when she was flung into this world, and although I doubt that anyone can use it, it could be extremely dangerous in the wrong hands. We need to find it, but I don’t even know where to begin,” she said helplessly. 

“Of course I will help,” said Albus. “But if I may ask, what is important about this Grimmorie?” 

“There is a spell that can send her back home,” she replied, and then hesitated. “And….” Her eyes darted around the room before meeting the wizards gaze. “It is a very long story,” she said softly. 

Albus understood. His eyes lit up hopefully as he stood and gestured toward a side door. “Shall we take this to my sitting room?” he asked, leading her through and shutting the door behind them. Minerva felt the privacy wards activate, and took a seat in a large, overstuffed chair across from him. Her hands were folded in her lap in order to curtail the desire to wring them anxiously, and she could feel Albus’ intense gaze focused on her face. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him quite yet. 

“I was born with several abnormalities, including green skin. My parents named me Elphaba Thropp, and I have been told that I was a strange child. My parents tolerated me, the neighborhood children tormented me, and strangers stared and shunned me. Then my younger sister, Nessa Rose, was born a cripple. We all loved her, perhaps doted on her, and she seemed to be the only one who liked me. We grew up together, and I was the one who spent the most time taking care of her. 

“I didn’t mind.” 

She darted a glance up at her companion, and saw him watching her intently. His presence was comforting and Minerva relaxed minutely. 

“When we went to Shiz Academy, Nessa and I were separated, and I became roommates with Glinda.” Minerva grinned wryly. “We hated each other. I thought she was petty, shallow, and empty-headed, and she thought I was a strange, skinny, green girl with a sharp tongue. Eventually, though, the same day she set up Nessa with a classmate of ours, Boq, we came to an understanding and shortly thereafter became friends.

“While at Shiz, it was discovered that I had a great gift for magic, and Madame Morrible taught me all she knew, telling me that the Wizard of Oz would certainly be interested in my talent. I studied hard with the dream that I might someday meet the Wizard. He was a great, powerful, and benevolent man who had appeared one day in a large hot air balloon, and the people of Oz revered him. I thought, perhaps, that with my power I could do great things for Oz, and the Wizard could rid me of my green skin.” 

Albus noted with concern that Minerva’s tone had become strangely emotionless. 

“I was a naïve, idealistic girl,” she said, shaking her head. 

“Despite the presence of the Wizard, darkness was creeping upon us, although most people did not notice. I had an enlightening discussion with my favorite professor, Dr. Dillamond. He was a Goat.” 

Minerva looked up to see a flicker of amusement in Albus’ eyes, and she smiled faintly. Everyone had heard of his brother, Aberforth’s, incident with goats, although no one knew what had actually happened. 

“A goat?” he questioned. 

Minerva shook her head. “A Goat,” she said, stressing the difference. “In Oz there are ordinary animals, and then there are Animals with the ability to speak and human intelligence.” 

He nodded in understanding, and she continued. 

“Something was happening to the Animals. Rules were being put into place that severely limited their ability to make a living, and people, for seemingly no reason, were beginning to shun and disrespect them. Worse, there were rumors that Animals had begun to lose their ability to speak. 

“And then one day Dr. Dillamond disappeared. A group of men soon arrived, bringing a Lion cub in a cage much too small. They intended for us to experiment on him, and I was horrified. When they weren’t looking, another classmate of mine, Fiyero, and I freed him and ran. His help surprised me, actually. He always seemed so much like Glinda, rather self-centered and obsessed with popularity. I only realized then that it was a mask he portrayed to the world.”

Minerva smiled fondly at the thought of the other man, and Albus couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding. 

“Soon after, Glinda and I set out for the Emerald City where the Wizard resided. That was when he gave me the Grimmorie. It was written in a long-forgotten language that no one knew how to read. Yet I was able to. When he had me read from the spell book the words just seemed to flow through me, and my first spell gave the monkey he had procured wings. I was ecstatic. And then I discovered that it was _he_ who was behind the dehumanization of the Animals. _Him_ and his technological progress,” she snarled, and stood, pacing angrily. “He had no magic in him, none at all, simply the ability to fake it and bring himself into a place of power. I refused to join him, freed Chistery, the monkey, and fled the room, evading the soldiers he had called for. Glinda found me in a tower, and tried to convince me to go back, not to give up my dream.” 

Minerva threw herself back into the chair, leaning back and closing her eyes. 

“I couldn’t, I just couldn’t. I had to leave and do something to help the Animals and bring about the fall of the Wizard. I asked Glinda to come with me, and for a moment I thought she would. But she didn’t, and I was on my own. Glinda became the Wizard’s mascot, and was known as Glinda the Good, although she had never been very good at magic. Fiyero became Glinda’s fiancée, and Madame Morrible spread lies about me and my actions so that no one believed a word I said against the Wizard. From that time on I was on the run. I became known as the Wicked Witch of the West, and my life was constantly endangered by the Wizard’s soldiers and assassins. I had no allies save what few Animals I were left, and nothing I did seemed to help at all.”

“Oh, my dear,” Albus murmured. 

“It was just one disaster after another. After a while I snuck back into the Emerald Palace, but the Wizard caught me. He was so persuasive, so sincere and regretful, that I almost believed him and very nearly joined him. And then I saw what he was trying to hide from me. Dr. Dillamond, on all fours, bleating like an ordinary goat, with no sign of recognition or intelligence in his eyes.” A repulsed expression crossed Minerva’s features. “I thought I was going to be sick, and then I thought I would murder that man, but there was no time and I was forced to flee again. 

“There was one good thing that happened in those years, although I always feel guilty about it. Fiyero broke off his engagement with Glinda and found me. He supported me and we soon became lovers.” 

Albus stopped breathing for a moment. His hands clenched at the armrests of his chair until his knuckles were white, and his heart skipped a beat at her words. He struggled desperately to beat away the jealousy that had risen up in him, choking him. It took him a moment to regain his composure, and he was simply thankful that Minerva hadn’t looked up at him. Really, he shouldn’t be surprised. Although he hadn’t noticed any interest in anyone in the past 40 years, that didn’t mean she hadn’t had someone before she had become a professor. 

Unaware of his struggle, Minerva said, “And then one day the soldiers found him and dragged him away. Neither Glinda nor I could do anything to save him, and he was soon executed. Not long after, Madame Morrible summoned a house with a tornado and killed Nessa Rose.” She shook her head. “Poor, spoiled Nessa Rose who had taken Boq’s heart with a spell, forcing me to turn him into a man of tin to save him. 

“I think I went a bit mad in the end,” she said softly. “I decided that if all my good intentions had gotten me was death and misery, then I would earn my title of Wicked Witch. I would become all that the rumors said that I was.

“There was a girl – Dorothy – and her dog in that house, from another world. Glinda arrived and gave her my sister’s ruby slippers, the last present my father had ever given. The shoes I had enchanted to enable Nessa to walk. They were mine by right, and she gave them to that _girl_. Dorothy went to the Wizard to find a way to return home, and he sent her to destroy me, along with an animated Scarecrow, a cowardly Lion, who had been the cub Fiyero and I had rescued, and the Tin Man, who had once been Boq.” 

Minerva smiled humorlessly. “They didn’t stand a chance. I have no idea what the Wizard was thinking. I sent Chistery and the other winged monkeys after them, threatened the group, and locked them in the dungeons of the castle Fiyero had owned.” 

She looked across at the wizard. Albus’ expression was unreadable.

“Glinda showed up a short while after I had captured them, and attempted to talk sense into me. By then I was already having doubts. I knew I couldn’t kill the girl in cold blood, no matter how angry or annoyed I was. And then I knew what I had to do. Glinda had so much more power than I had, and we had already forgiven each other for any perceived wrongs. She would have joined me, I think, but I wouldn’t let her. Instead I gave her the Grimmorie to guard and sent her away. Then I summoned the girl and her friends, and handed her the means for my destruction.

“Only, I must have had more of a will to live than I thought. I vaguely remember screaming a spell, despite the excruciating pain. And then I arrived here, in this world. 

“And that’s the story of my life.” 

Minerva, uncharacteristically, seemed to shrink in on herself as she met Albus’ gaze. She waited with bated breath for his verdict. He could so easily break her. 

Albus opened his arms to her, and she moved toward him without hesitation, surprising him. Surrounded by him, enfolded in his bright, voluminous robes, breathing in his scent of chocolate, lemon drops, and cinnamon, she felt comforted. She wanted this so badly, what she had never had. Not for the first time she wished for the ability to cry without pain. 

“I’m so sorry, Minerva dear,” he murmured. “You’ve had such a hard life. Thank you so much for telling me.” 

Despite herself, a tear escaped and burned a trail down her cheek. Glinda had been right. He wouldn’t reject her because of her past. 

 

The Order meeting was stretching out longer than Minerva had expected, and she was having trouble concentrating. She looked up when Severus spoke. 

“The Dark Lord has discovered a book that he says contains spells beyond our imagining.” 

All color drained from Minerva’s face, and she immediately focused on the younger man, startling the others when she spoke. 

“What does it look like?” she asked sharply. 

Severus frowned at her and described the Grimmorie exactly. 

“Can he use it?” she demanded, ignoring the curious looks the rest of the Order was giving her. “Is there any way at all to get it away from him?” 

Severus seemed to debate whether he should answer or demand an explanation first. He settled on the former. 

“He sequesters himself away for hours at a time, threatening dire punishment on any who interrupt him, but yes, I believe he is able to cast the spells. And it would be suicide to attempt to steal the book away. It is on his person at all times and coated with Dark curses and protective spells keyed only to him.” 

Minerva shook her head as if denial would change the truth. They knew where the Grimmorie was now. The very last place she had hoped it would be.


	8. Light and Dark

_Fatal embrace of the bloodred waters_  
The cradle of infinite gloom  
The spell to master this Earth  
Carven on an infant's tomb  
-“Devil and the Deep Dark Ocean,” Nightwish 

Albus sat in his office pondering the mystery that was Minerva McGonagall. Over the past few weeks she had opened up enough so that they occasionally talked about her past, in more depth than the initial overview. She seemed more relaxed in his presence now that he knew. It seemed to him that a part of the heavy burden she carried on her shoulders had been lifted. It made him want to alleviate her burden altogether. 

She was such a strong woman, to go through such pain and betrayal, only to discover that it was her own biological father who had been the cause behind such grief. He wondered how so many people could so horribly misjudge her. 

The two had only touched on the change in her skin color. Minerva didn’t seem to want to discuss it, and so Albus left it alone. Although the change could have been a result of her dimensional trip, it seemed fairly unlikely. There might have been more to the story, but Albus was careful not to pry. She had never mentioned what the instrument of her destruction had been, and he was curious. 

Minerva still had her secrets, of course, as did everyone. It would be hypocritical of him to be upset with her for not revealing them. He himself had kept one very important secret from her for years. 

His thoughts turned to a discussion the two of them had had only a few days ago when they were both stressed and upset about the climbing death toll. 

_Minerva hugged herself as she stared out the window, back to Dumbledore._

_“I’m so tired of this,” she whispered into the silence._

_“My dear?” Albus asked, surprised._

_The witch turned to regard him, the weak sunlight glinting off of her square spectacles. “All of this,” she said, waving an arm helplessly. “I’ve lived through a life on the run, a lone crusade against injustice and the world in general, and a war. And now this second war against a powerful, homicidal, reborn Dark Lord. I’m not young anymore, Albus.” She sighed and her rigid posture morphed quickly into one of exhaustion. “I’m so tired of this.”_

_The two were silent for several moments as Fawkes quietly trilled from his post. Albus knew she would not appreciate his words at present._

_“Maybe I’ll leave when this is over,” Minerva mused. “Perhaps it is time I retired.”_

_Albus frowned, a flicker of worry evident in his bright blue eyes. Leave? To no longer see her daily, converse at will? “Really, Minerva. You’re nowhere near my age, so you can hardly leave before I do. And who will take over as Headmaster when I die?” he said lightly, in an attempt at a joke._

_“Albus, I have no doubt that you will outlive us all,” she said with a shake of her head._

_“Perhaps I won’t survive this anyway,” Minerva continued thoughtfully. She did not fear death. She had already died once, in a way._

_Albus felt his heart stop, and he inhaled sharply at her words. The thought of Minerva dead, murdered at the hands of Voldemort and his army…. It didn’t bear thinking about. He barely noticed her concerned glances as he fought to keep the anguish out of his expression. His heart twisted painfully in his chest._

Yes, Minerva McGonagall was a dangerous weakness, one he could ill afford. And yet, he wouldn’t have changed it if he could. 

She deserved to know. Deserved to know that he had fallen in love with her long ago. There were reasons he hadn’t told her during the first war against Voldemort, when he had first realized how he truly regarded his closest friend. If Minerva couldn’t trust him with her past, would lie to him about it, then how could they build a deeper relationship? And then she had told him about her past, only a few short weeks ago. But there was a war being waged on their front door, and now certainly wasn’t the time to become involved. Minerva had made enemies of her own, but to be so closely associated with him would be signing her death warrant. 

And now that she has a way home, now that she can blend in without fear of discovery, Albus won’t be selfish enough to cause her to feel obligated to stay. It will break his heart; the two of them have hardly been apart in 40 years, but he can survive if he must. 

Albus often thought that he was a coward when it came to Minerva. They were good arguments, to be sure. But no matter how he tried to tell himself otherwise, the certainty that she would reject him had become a large factor in his silence. 

 

Minerva moved as quickly as she could through the battlefield. It was a mass of bodies, a barrage of colored spells, a roar of noise in between the trees of the forest. Her spectacles were gone, removed before the fighting began. Her senses were open, strained as far as possible, while her eyes darted about the area, wide and glowing. Occasionally she paused to cast spells for those of her allies in need. But she had a more important opponent she needed to find. There was no time to engage in duels. 

She could feel Albus following her. It was likely he knew what she was looking for. Or perhaps he was simply going in a similar direction on his own quest. Either way, she didn’t mind. They were looking for the same person, after all. 

Albus was slowed by his need to be ever-vigilant, to keep an eye out for any spells sent his way. Minerva relied on her senses to alert her to any spells sent at her, and her instincts to make sure she twisted out of the way. Her eyes were searching, ever searching, for the Dark Lord. And then she caught a glimpse, a feeling, of his aura, and she darted forward, Albus on her heels. If she wasn’t fast enough, couldn’t get there in time, she would never be able to shield Potter and his friends from the power of the Grimmorie. 

Sounds of the battle faded to a dull roar as they burst into a large clearing. Minerva arrived in time to hear the tail end of chanting, and it took but a second to take in the scene. Mr. Weasley was on the ground unconscious, with Miss Granger bent over him, desperately attempting to wake him. Potter stood between them and the Dark Lord, wand out, scowling fiercely as blood trickled from a cut on his cheek. 

Immediately Minerva threw out her left hand in their direction, chanting so quickly she nearly stumbled over the words. “ _Eleka nahmen nahmen ah tum ah tum eleka nahmen_.” 

Whatever spell Voldemort had cast fizzled out mere inches from Potter, and Minerva breathed a sigh of relief. Quickly, before the Dark Lord could regain his wits, she thrust her wand into Albus’ hand and stepped forward. She had discovered that he knew how to use two wands in battle, and knew he would have more use for it than she would. Wands would not channel the magic she would need in this battle. 

“Minerva McGonagall,” her opponent hissed. “You are an exceedingly interesting witch.” 

“I believe you have something that belongs to me, Riddle,” she said coldly, trusting Albus to take care of the students. 

The other man’s inhuman face twisted into an expression of rage, and he struck. His harsh, stumbling chanting was at odds with the lilting, half-chant, half-song of Minerva, but he knew spells she had forgotten or never tried. Occasionally she had to let the spell manifest in order to see what it was before she could figure out a way to deal with it. 

Meanwhile, Dumbledore made his way swiftly and quietly to the three Gryffindors. Harry, forgotten by Voldemort for the time being, had joined Hermione in attempting to wake Ron, although the two often shot looks of worry, surprise and amazement at their strict Professor McGonagall, who was dueling the Dark Lord. 

“Headmaster,” Hermione said upon seeing him, panicking,” he won’t wake up. He hit his head on a rock, and he’s not responding or anything.” There were tears in her eyes, and Harry’s grip on his wand threatened to snap it. 

“Allow me, Miss Granger,” he said gently, and cast a diagnostic spell. The boy had a concussion and fractured skull, which he healed quickly. Mr. Weasley needed to be alert with danger so near, and there was no time to find a proper healer. 

The red-haired boy groaned and his eyes fluttered open. Hermione threw herself on him with a sob, and Harry grinned with relief. 

“Bad time to take a nap, Ron,” he said lightly. 

“Bloody hell,” the youngest male Weasley groaned, sitting up and grimacing in pain. 

“Be careful, Mr. Weasley,” Dumbledore cautioned, causing him to jump. 

“Oh, hello Professor,” he said a bit sheepishly, as the others helped him to his feet. “Wait, where’s…” Ron looked around for You-Know-Who, and gaped. “Bloody hell,” he repeated thoughtlessly. “Is that McGonagall?!” 

Minerva may not have been as experienced as the Dark Lord and Dumbledore, and she might not be quite as powerful. But she was certainly quicker and more nimble than either of them. Voldemort, seeing that his opponent had more experience with the Grimmorie’s spells, had begun to rely increasingly on wizardry instead, and she dodged and twisted to avoid the new barrage of spells, performing moves that were worthy of a professional acrobat. 

Hermione and Harry joined their friend in staring wide-eyed at the spectacle. Harry whistled quietly. “She’s good,” he murmured. 

“No offense, or anything, Professor,” Ron said, “but how come it’s McGonagall fighting You-Know-Who instead of you?” 

“She is the only one who can counter the new magic Tom has gotten hold of,” Dumbledore explained quietly. “But I believe I shall assist her soon.” He focused his intense blue gaze on the three, holding their attention. “If things get out of hand, I want you three to get out of here. Keep safe. I’ll put up an Anti-Disapparition Jinx around the clearing. If the rest of the battle looks hopeless, retreat. Wait for a better opportunity. Promise me.” 

They did so reluctantly, but they gave him their word. He nodded, and the three drew back as he put up the wards. 

Intellectually, the three had known that Professor McGonagall was fairly powerful, but it was quite another thing to see her in action, dueling against a man that feared only Albus Dumbledore. Harry, Ron, and Hermione could hardly believe their eyes as the spells flew quickly, silently, and even wandlessly. And Dumbledore had implied that his Deputy could do magic he had no knowledge of. They would never look at Professor McGonagall the same way again. 

“Enough of this!” Voldemort bellowed. “ _Avada –_ ”

He was distracted as a thick beam of orange light shattered his shields and flung him off his feet. Minerva turned to look, and saw Albus stepping in, both wands trained on Riddle. She breathed a sigh of relief, trying to catch her breath. 

“Dumbledore,” the other wizard hissed, rising slowly to his feet and flinging a spell the color of blood at the silver-haired man. He transfigured a rock into a shield with his own wand, and snaked a golden strand of magic underneath with Minerva’s. 

Minerva hovered near the two, doing her best to protect Albus from anything in the Grimmorie. So intent was she, she didn’t notice Voldemort send a Draining Curse her way. But Albus did. He abandoned the duel and flung himself at her, tackling her to the ground. 

Hermione covered her mouth, holding back a scream, as Ron physically restrained Harry from rushing to the aid of the two professors. 

Thinking quickly, Minerva threw up the most powerful shield she knew. Which also happened to be Dark. Whatever spell Riddle had flung at them was sucked into the shield with a crackle, and then shot back, twice as powerful. She noticed him knocked unconscious out of the corner of her eye, but the wizard on top of her had her more immediate attention. 

Albus swayed as he made to stand, and Minerva quickly examined his magical core. “Albus! It hit you!” she exclaimed, watching as his magic grew dimmer and dimmer. The strain was already taking a toll on his body. He was on his knees, trembling and pale. A cold sweat broke out on his brow, and his eyes grew dim. 

“Albus,” she said, a hand on each cheek as she forced him to look at her. “Albus, stay with me.” 

“It’s permanent,” he said hoarsely, attempting to return her wand. “You need to get yourself and the students out of here while you can.” 

“Hush,” said Minerva, ignoring the wand. “Focus on my voice. I’ll fix this.” She frowned and focused her unnatural eyes on his magical core. She would need to shield it from the drain first, before she could repair it. She sang quietly, voice rising and falling as she attempted to modify one of the simpler defensive spells found in the Grimmorie. It appeared to be successful, and so she repaired what damage had been done. 

Minerva brushed her fingertips against his lips and throat, and then placed a palm over his heart. Wherever she touched left a pleasant tingling sensation, and energy flooded Albus’ body. 

“Minerva,” he breathed, slightly shaky, but none the worse for wear. “Thank you. So much.”

She opened her mouth to reply when a screamed, “Professor!” distracted her. 

Hermione had noticed the slight movement of the seemingly unconscious Dark Lord, as he, in his all-consuming rage, silently shot the first spell at them that came to mind. Unluckily for Minerva, it happened to be a tidal wave of water. She yelped and hastily enlarged a rock, the two taking cover behind it as the wave broke upon them. “Wait for the opportune moment,” she said to her companion, and broke cover, the strongest water-repelling shield she knew firmly in place around her. 

Voldemort watched her with narrowed red eyes. He had an instinct for causing fear and pain, and it was clear to him that only now was she feeling truly afraid. Potter and Dumbledore could wait now that they were no immediate threat. But this unknown was turning out to be a greater threat than he had ever dreamed, and she needed to be taken care of as soon as possible. If it was water McGonagall feared, then it was water he would give her. 

“ _Aguamenti maximus_.” 

Minerva ducked and dodged, throwing up a defensive spell only when it was necessary in order to conserve her magic, but she was quickly growing tired. Did Riddle know what water did to her? Had she given her weakness away somehow? Why else would a Dark Lord be using water spells when he could be using Avada Kedavra? 

Her breath was growing ragged when she slipped and stumbled on a stone. Unable to dodge, a powerful stream of water struck Minerva, easily shattering the built-in wards on her robe. She screamed, collapsing as pain consumed her. Tears threatened, but she pushed them away as she forced out the words to a drying charm. Panting and sore, she levered herself up onto her elbows. 

“But it was just water,” she heard at the edge of her hearing, and turned to see the three Gryffindors watching her with open worry and confusion, gripping their wands tightly. Her gaze moved to Albus, who was standing unobtrusively a short distance away from the students. He looked stricken, and even hurt that she had not confided this secret in him. 

Then Riddle moved toward her, and gained Minerva’s full attention. No more distractions she told herself firmly as she scrabbled in the dirt and reigned in her fear. She needed to get the Grimmorie away from him no matter the cost. 

“You have been an unexpected thorn in my side, McGonagall. But no more.” 

Minerva never gave him the chance to complete his rant. The moment he began to move his wand, she flung a handful of dirt at his eyes. He roared in pain, shooting curses blindly at where she had lain. But she hadn’t waited around, transforming into her Animagus form immediately and launching herself at him. Deftly evading his grasp and scratching long gashes into his skin with her claws, the moment she felt a paw touch the large, hardbound tome she reversed her transformation. A cutting curse clipped her left shoulder as she quickly put distance between herself and Voldemort. The book seemed to writhe beneath her grasp, pain needling through her hands and up her arms as the Dark spells began to take effect. 

“Albus!” she called out, and he understood. While she dealt with the Grimmorie, he inserted himself between her and Riddle, defending her so that she could find the spells to counter whatever he had done to himself in his quest to achieve immortality. Dumbledore’s interference took the Dark Lord by surprise; he was obviously not expecting the older wizard to have retained his magic.

“No,” she growled, completely oblivious to her surroundings as the book fought to take her life. Minerva asserted her will, burrowing through the layers of Darkness to the Grimmorie itself. Black light, if it was possible, streamed between her fingers, crawling up her arms. “ _Choose_ ,” she ordered in the forgotten tongue. “ _Choose your master_.” 

The blackness seemed to pulse once, and then vanished. It had chosen her, not for her good intentions, but simply because she had owned it longest, because she was more skilled than its other option. 

But Minerva didn’t dwell on this, instead flipping through the pages, feeling for where Riddle’s aura lingered longest. She found one spell and sang its counter quickly, moving on. The next took quite a bit longer to find, and even longer to reverse. It was while she was in the middle of the third that she became aware of something wrong. And then she was being yanked to the side, but she couldn’t stop reading from the book until the spell was complete or disaster would follow. Putting her life in Albus’ hands, she finished the chant. 

Looking up, she saw Albus tiring. The Draining Spell had taken too much out of him, and he was slowing down. Riddle was getting too close. With a whispered prayer, she banished the Grimmorie to Glinda, its guardian, right before she was taken by surprised and blasted across the clearing. Pain blossomed as she hit a tree, and darkness descended upon her. 

“…sor. _Professor_ ,” a voice murmured insistently, and she moaned as she opened her eyes. Potter’s panicked face greeted her. 

“Professor quick,” Miss Granger whispered. “You’ve only been out for a minute, but Professor Dumbledore doesn’t look well, and I think V-Voldemort is trying to get at you.” 

“’m up,” she said groggily, wincing at her throbbing head. “Thank you. Now stay back.” 

The three obeyed reluctantly when she backed up her order with a stern glare. 

Minerva returned her attention to the duel. Albus was tiring quickly, she noticed. She needed to thoroughly distract Riddle. So far she had been trying to limit what Dark Arts she used, especially in front of her current audience, but she couldn’t hold back now when things were getting desperate. If Albus’ life had not been so threatened, she would have killed Riddle while he was unconscious. Yet she had been unable to leave Albus when he needed her help, no matter what he told her to do. Minerva couldn’t abandon him. To her mind, it was nearly impossible. 

A Decapitation Curse, followed by a Disembowling Jinx and a Concussion Hex flew at Voldemort, who was forced to abandon his near victory as he dodged the first and quickly shielded the next two. Minerva had no time to move before she was flying through the air to his side. Her wrists were bound behind her back in invisible bonds of magic, and she dangled in the air, forced to lean forward quite a ways to keep her shoulders from screaming in pain. 

With her in the way, Albus was forced to check his spells, quickly stopping himself before she was caught in the crossfire. Those in the clearing came to an uneasy standstill as Voldemort regarded Minerva with some surprise. 

“Well, well. You intrigue me, Minerva McGonagall,” he said with a hint of a sneer. “I have looked into your past. No family or connections. Official documents created by, I assume, our most esteemed Headmaster. I heard the rumors when you appeared seemingly out of nowhere one winter forty years ago.” 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were listening with wide-eyed fascination. There was more to their Head of House than they had ever dreamed, and to find this out all at once from the Dark Lord…

Albus watched this unfold in horror as Minerva dangled helplessly before Tom. Her hair had escaped from her bun, and now hung down obscuring her face. 

“And now, not only did that book you claim to own contain many questionable spells, but you also cast several very Dark curses.” His laughter was high-pitched and cruel. “I am shocked that you had it in you.” 

Minerva met his gaze squarely, eyes hard and cold. “I never claimed to be a Light Witch,” she said clearly. 

A shocked silence seemed to reverberate throughout the clearing. 

Harry glanced at his two best friends. Hermione was visibly shocked by this revelation, shaking her head in denial. Ron looked betrayed by his Head of House’s admission. Harry himself, however, was unsure how to take this news. He was astounded, yes. But he, better than any of his classmates, knew that the world was not black and white. And for all Professor McGonagall’s strictness, he knew that she cared for her students. 

He looked over, intensely curious to see how Dumbledore had reacted. But the Headmaster’s face was unreadable, even as he watched unwaveringly as the scene unfolded before him. 

Voldemort’s face was a picture of demented glee. 

“Dumbledore’s right hand a Dark Witch?” His gaze darted over to the other wizard. “Does that not just twist the knife deeper, Dumbledore?” The words seemed full of some hidden meaning, but Minerva simply gazed on, confused. 

Harry carefully studied his mentor’s profile, and understanding struck him, something Hermione must have suspected long ago. If things became truly bad, then the three of them would obey the Headmaster and retreat. But if Professor McGonagall did not make it, at least one of the two wizards would not make it out alive.


	9. Sleep and Awake

_The place between sleep and awake_  
End of innocence  
Unending masquerade  
That’s where I’ll wait for you 

_Hold me, near you_  
So closely, sear you  
Seeing, believing  
Dreaming, deceiving  
-“Sleepwalker,” Nightwish 

 

Harry and his friends watched worriedly as Professor McGonagall dangled helplessly in Riddle’s power. Dumbledore didn’t dare attack for fear of harming his professor, and the very air in the clearing was thick with tension. 

“You two be ready to do what we planned,” Harry whispered as Voldemort continued to talk. He couldn’t bear to watch and not do something. “As soon as Professor McGonagall is safe.”

Surprisingly, it was Ron who quickly voiced his agreement. “This will probably be our best chance if we’re gonna defeat him. He’s already weak from dueling both Dumbledore and McGonagall.” 

Hermione wrung her hands. “But we _promised_ ,” she murmured. 

“Yes, and things will definitely get out of hand if our plan fails,” Harry said dryly. “In which case we will keep our promise and retreat. Probably.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. 

“If you are Dark, why follow that Muggle-loving fool?” Voldemort questioned, slowly circling Minerva. “Join me and you will have greater power than you can imagine. No one would dare stand against you. All your desires would be fulfilled, and you would gain a place of honor at my side.” 

“You do love to hear yourself talk, don’t you?” Minerva said caustically. “I have spent my _life_ fighting against people like _you_. Do not waste your breath.” She wanted to make him angry. Perhaps it wasn’t the best plan, especially since she was at his mercy, but people blinded by fury made mistakes. 

“I would never join you; you are beneath me. At the height of _my_ power my name was truly forgotten. People whispered the title they gave me, and even then they feared my retribution. Throughout the land they were terrified of me for things I had never done. I was alone, with none to stand by me. And you? You had to work to gain your reputation, make promises and threats to gain followers, and still your true name will never be forgotten. I killed the assassins they sent after me and with my magic tore apart the soldiers who came for me, while you were defeated by a child.” 

If Hermione and Ron had felt shocked and betrayed before, it was nothing compared to their reactions now, Harry observed. They all turned to Dumbledore, questions in their eyes, desiring reassurance. In only a moment, though Harry could see the wheels turning in Hermione’s head, even as he began to consider this. 

Although it was difficult to tell, Dumbledore had not appeared surprised by this revelation. If he knew, why would he allow her anywhere near the students, give her a position with such power as Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts? How could he put so much trust in her if she had done what she claimed? It didn’t make any _sense_. She had risked her life to protect her students, had fought against Voldemort in both wars. He had never even heard of her reign of terror; there had been no Dark Ladies between Grindelwald and Voldemort. She was, as Tom had said, Dumbledore’s right hand. Dumbledore was nothing if not a good judge of people (despite his track record with DADA professors), and he was in love with her. That had to count for something. 

Harry’s mind was a swirl of confusion. He didn’t know what to think, but as soon as this was over, he was getting to the bottom of it. 

“You lie,” Voldemort said in disbelief. 

“You know I do not.” He was a master at Legilimency, after all. 

“I have never even heard of you,” he protested, eyes narrowed. 

“No, you wouldn’t have,” Minerva drawled in a passable imitation of Severus. 

Riddle snarled at her, face twisted into a demonic mask, and his hand flew to her throat as if he would crush her windpipe. Albus tensed, ready to cast at a moment’s notice. Instead, the Dark Lord appeared to change his mind, and his dry, scaly hand parted the high collar of her robes, caressing her skin and slowly moving downward. “You certainly need to be taught a lesson, Professor,” he hissed malevolently, red eyes glowing with an unholy light. Minerva couldn’t contain a shudder, bravado abandoning her, and he grinned cruelly as she tried to shrink away from his touch. 

Her gaze met Albus’, who was trembling in barely controlled rage. The anger in her bright green eyes did nothing to hide her overwhelming fear, and tears of panic gathered, about to fall. 

It was the last straw. 

“ _Do not touch her!_ ” he roared as the ground began to shake. His blue eyes, which normally appeared cold as ice in his anger, now seemed to shimmer like a flame, and electricity played across his skin, crackling as his aura took a visible form. Voldemort, so confident only a moment ago, looked on at the spectacle in fear. The ground beneath him buckled, and he was thrown to his knees as the roots of the surrounding trees shot out of the dirt, pulling him into a tight embrace. Albus had both hands trained on the wizard, although none of the witnesses knew whether he had actually cast a spell through them. 

Minerva fought desperately against the magic that kept her in the air, and a burst of her own wandless magic gained her freedom now that Riddle was so distracted. 

“Potter, _now_!” she screamed as the Dark Lord began to free himself from the binds. She saw Harry and his friends position themselves near Dumbledore so as to get a clear shot. Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger appeared to cast a spell in tandem at the third member of their group. Minerva couldn’t hear the words over the howls of Riddle, but the result caused Mr. Potter to glow with a steady white light, as opposed to Albus’ flashing supernova. 

She saw the teenager’s mouth move, speaking the incantation, and his wand channeled the light. It hit Voldemort, who let out an inhuman shriek as the energy poured out of Mr. Potter. In but a moment he lowered his wand, the spell finished, as the light surrounding the Dark Lord grew brighter and brighter. 

Something was wrong. Minerva could feel it. The spell, whatever it was, was working properly, but it had set something off. Her heart sank. It seemed she hadn’t countered all of the Grimmorie’s spells he had used on himself. 

“ _Get down_!” she bellowed, and then braced herself, spreading her arms as she began to chant. It wasn’t the counter-spell, but with the appropriate sacrifice, it would nullify whatever magic Riddle had cast upon himself to gain revenge on those who would defeat him. 

At her words, Harry automatically threw himself to the ground as Dumbledore grabbed Ron and Hermione and yanked them down. The light seemed to compress itself, retreating to a point several feet in front of Minerva, glowing like a miniature sun so that it was too bright to look in her direction. They were forced to turn their faces away and close their eyes. 

The moment Minerva ended the chant, the globe of light shot forward, leaving a tail like a comet as it struck her in the chest. 

When Harry dared to open his eyes again, it took quite a while to readjust to the darkness. The first image he managed to make out was a torn, dirty black robe tangled among the roots. There was no sign of the Dark Lord, which was as it should be. Harry knew he hadn’t escaped, as the result of failing that particular spell was the death of its caster. No more, he realized. No more looking behind him, waiting for his life to be in danger again and again. Logically, he knew that his life was his own once again, but it hadn’t truly sunk in yet. Not to mention the last spell had drained him.

He looked back at the Headmaster and his friends, who were blinking as their eyes adjusted, and slowly heaving themselves to their feet. And then he realized that there was someone missing. His head whipped around to face the clearing, looking frantically for – 

“Minerva!” Dumbledore exclaimed, and was at her side in a flash. Harry winced, his muscles protesting as he followed the older wizard as quickly as he could. Professor McGonagall’s still form was crumpled on the ground, one arm out flung.

Harry took a moment to observe his Transfiguration Professors. He had never seen her so look so frail. She seemed to be drowning in her dark green robes, crushed beneath the fabric. McGonagall’s long, tangled hair haloed her face, no doubt as blood-stained, dirtied, and full of leaves and twigs as Dumbledore’s silvery beard, although it was difficult to see. Her inky black hair and long dark eyelashes provided a sharp contrast to her pale, nearly translucent skin. He caught glimpses of a web of purplish veins. 

Hermione gasped, and brought a hand to her mouth. “Is she…?” she whispered. 

Albus’ hand trembled as he hesitantly felt for a pulse. He sighed in relief. It was slow and faint, but it was there. “She’s alive.” She was so light he lifted her easily, and left the clearing.

Dumbledore must be standing by sheer force of will, Harry mused. If he felt exhausted after only one major spell, how must the Headmaster feel? Dumbledore looked only marginally better than Professor McGonagall. 

The trio exchanged glances. 

“She doesn’t look evil,” Ron muttered as they moved to flank the older wizard in case he collapsed. 

Hermione elbowed him sharply. 

Dumbledore looked at them each in turn before saying, “We would appreciate it, I believe, if the true events of what took place here were not revealed.” 

 

Minerva had been in a coma for two weeks. Poppy had been able to heal her physical injuries, but there was no spell that could wake a coma victim. It had been the first time, the nurse noted, that the Headmaster had willingly remained in the Hospital Wing. Although, more often than not, she had to force him out of the chair next to Minerva, and back into his own bed. 

Once he had been released, Albus returned often to sit with Minerva, when he wasn’t busy with the speeches, appearances, and reassurances that the Wizarding World required. He felt her absence keenly when he sat at the Head Table, presiding over his students, each missing face inflicting new pain. He missed her in his rooms, sitting across from him at the chessboard, her face a picture of intense concentration. 

“Minerva,” he murmured, stroking her hair as he stood to leave, needed to preside over dinner. “Oh, sweetheart, don’t do this. Come back.” 

Glinda was another regular visitor of Minerva. If she wasn’t in the guest room, she could be found in the Infirmary, murmuring quietly to her old friend. People watched her suspiciously, as they had never seen her before, but she ignored them. She rarely went anywhere without the Grimmorie, using what meager magical skills she had to keep it unnoticed. She was afraid of what would happen should it be lost once again. This was the second time Minerva had nearly died. 

Glinda emerged from the shadows and took the now empty seat at Minerva’s side. “Minerva. Elphie. Please wake up soon.” She paused, and leaned closer to whisper to her, “He loves you.” 

Many others stopped in to see the Deputy Headmistress, but Albus took note of when Miss Granger and Messrs. Potter and Weasley arrived. Glinda had been present as well, and the three students eyed her curiously. 

“This is Glinda, a childhood friend of Professor McGonagall,” Dumbledore introduced. 

Hermione’s eyes widened when she noticed what the blonde-haired woman was holding. “That’s the book Voldemort was using,” she hissed in surprise. 

Glinda blinked and looked down at her lap. “Oh dear,” she said quietly. “It’s worn off again.” A few murmured words, and the Grimmorie seemed to blink out of existence. 

“Why do you have that?” Harry asked suspiciously. 

“I am its guardian,” she replied. “Minerva charged me to take care of it right before she disappeared.” 

Dumbledore stood. “Come with me,” he said. “I suppose I shall provide you with some of the explanations you have been searching for. Although if you have questions, you will need to ask Professor McGonagall when she awakes.” 

He gave them a brief explanation, briefer than he had been given at first. The three deserved some sort of explanation, and he was uncertain as to exactly how much she wanted known, no matter how trustworthy the people. 

 

Two and a half weeks after Voldemort’s demise, Minerva was completely healed, her magical reserves nearly full, and she still hadn’t come out of her coma. 

“It was largely because of you that we had the werewolf and vampire allies we did,” Albus said to Minerva’s peaceful form. “You might protest, but it’s true. I don’t think you would believe how few wizards and witches see them as anything other than beasts to be feared. But you….You treat them with respect, as equals, and they, in turn, regard you with great respect. I’ve no doubt that you ignore the many unjust laws when you can.”

He stared down at the slender hand he held in his own. 

“Now I know why it is so easy for you to treat them just like any other person.” He sighed. “You must be disgusted with the Wizarding World. Vampires and werewolves at least appear human. Not like Animals.”

Minerva slowly, reluctantly came to, dragging herself out of the darkness of unconsciousness. She was in an unfamiliar bed with someone holding her hand. A sense of déjà vu washed over her. Her eyes fluttered open, and a name escaped her lips. 

“Albus?” 

He looked up sharply at the whisper and his breath caught in his throat as the sunlight flashed in the witch’s eyes, becoming twin pools of emerald fire. 

“Minerva,” he breathed, but her eyelids had already closed as she fell into a natural sleep. His hand twitched for his wand to alert Poppy before remembering that it would be another week before he was allowed to perform magic. Between the Draining Curse that Minerva had somehow managed to counter and the plethora of highly advanced spells he had used in the duel, his magical reserves had been emptied, and his magical core had gone into shock. So, reluctantly, he left his companion’s side to search out the nurse and let her know that her patient had come out of her coma. 

 

“Are you ready?” Minerva asked Glinda, who hesitantly nodded. It was past time for her to return to her world. 

Minerva had recovered surprisingly quickly, once she had awakened, and although she tired easily, her magic was back at full strength. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to keep the Grimmorie?” Glinda asked. 

Minerva shook her head. “It doesn’t belong here, and I don’t need it. I know you’ll take good care of it.” 

“Oh, Elphie,” she murmured, blue eyes glittering with tears. “I never dreamed that you had survived, and I’m so glad I was able to find you alive. At least this time I can say good-bye properly. We won’t see each other again, will we?” 

Minerva shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.” 

Glinda hugged her tightly. “Love you, Elphie. You’re the sister I never had. And believe me when I say that you will be happier than you ever thought you could be.” Her eyes flicked over to where the Headmaster stood in a corner, out of the way, before holding her childhood friend’s gaze. “Let it happen.” 

Minerva bestowed a rare, albeit sad, smile upon Glinda. “You’re like a sister to me as well, Glinda. Galinda. I’m proud of you, and I know you’ll succeed in whatever you do.” She pressed a large silver chain into the other woman’s hand. “I enchanted this. If you can get it onto Morrible, it will bind her magic.” 

“Thank you,” Glinda whispered. “Good bye.” 

“Good bye,” Minerva replied, and began to chant. A wind whipped through the room, spinning around Glinda, who grew fainter and fainter. The moment her form disappeared, the room was once again still and quiet. 

“You didn’t return with her,” Albus said at last, stepping up to face his Deputy. 

“There’s nothing there for me, Albus,” she said. “I’ll miss Glinda terribly, and she will miss me, but she doesn’t need me. She’s lived without me for four years, and I’ve lived without her for even longer. My family is dead, the Wizard is gone, and the people of Oz are happier for knowing I’m ‘dead.’ I have been Minerva McGonagall far longer than I’ve ever been Elphaba Thropp, Wicked Witch of the West.” 

He drew her close to him. “I am so glad you stayed.” 

_Tell her_ , the voice of Glinda whispered in his mind, a reminder of the last time he had spoken with her. _You must tell her._

“Minerva,” he murmured, bringing a hand up to touch her cheek, before moving to cup the back of her head. She watched him in confusion. “Please don’t hex me.” 

And then his lips were touching hers. She gasped, and Albus took advantage of her parted lips to deepen the kiss before reluctantly breaking away, his fingertips lightly stroking her cheek. He gave her a sad, gentle smile. “I have been in love with you for quite a while, Minerva McGonagall.” 

She stared at him wide-eyed. For the first time he had managed to render her speechless. “When – why…?” she stammered, suddenly very aware of how close he stood. 

“I first realized during the first war,” he said in that same quiet voice. “And as for why – ”

Albus was interrupted by the door opening, and drew back quickly as Harry peered into the room. The teen realized immediately what he had interrupted and shot a quick apologetic look at the Headmaster, silently cursing his timing. He should have been quieter. 

“Er…” Harry said awkwardly, “the Minister is looking for you Headmaster. Said it was an emergency. I esca – I mean, went looking for you as soon as I could.” 

“Thank you, Harry,” the older wizard said, and with one last glance at his Deputy, he left. 

Harry lingered for a moment. “Are you all right, Professor?” he asked. She was looking rather shaken. 

“I’m fine, thank you Mr. Potter,” she replied with a wan smile. 

He nodded and hesitated for a moment before exiting, closing the door behind him. 

 

“Oh, Glinda,” Minerva murmured to herself. “I wish you were here right now.” 

She sat on a small hill overlooking the lake, leaning back against a birch tree. 

_I’m no good at this. I don’t understand people. I don’t even understand myself. How do I know if I love him? Why would he love me?_

Minerva sighed. What was it Glinda had said? That she would be happier than she thought possible and to let it happen? 

_Did you know?_ she wondered. _Did you know Albus was in love with me? And do you think I’m in love with him? There’s something there. But it’s different than what I felt for Fiyero._

But then, it would be different with Fiyero. Things had begun so quickly and ended so tragically. Perhaps they had been on the way to being in love with each other. They had thought they were in love, anyway. But there had been no time to grow and explore. There had been so little time before Fiyero had been killed. 

Minerva tensed when she heard footsteps behind her and turned as she stood. “Remus,” she said in surprise. She noticed a burn on the side of his neck. “Hello.” 

“Hello Minerva,” the werewolf said, coming to a stop next to her. He smiled. “It’s wonderful to see you doing so well.” 

“Thank you,” she said with a small smile. “I’m glad you made it through this all right.” 

They both turned to regard the new headstone that stood beneath the birch tree. Minerva knelt and ran her hand over the engraved letters. “Severus never expected to live through this, you know,” she murmured. Her hand dropped to her side. “Not many will miss him, but I will. I’ll miss our banter.” 

“We would never have been friends,” Remus acknowledged. “But he didn’t deserve what life threw at him.” He watched her as she got back to her knees, dusting off her robe. “You know,” he said. “When I was a student, we all thought you two hated each other.” 

Minerva grinned wryly and shook her head. “We understood each other. And it must have driven him mad trying to figure out how one such as me could understand one such as him.” She glanced idly back at the castle. “Wherever he is, I have no doubt that he is satisfying his abundant…curiosity….” The witch trailed off, and Remus followed her gaze to see her regarding the distant figure of the Headmaster with a curious expression. 

“Ah,” Remus said, and Minerva glanced at him curiously. “He’s told you.” 

Her silence confirmed it. 

“You knew?” she asked at last. 

He shrugged. “A lot of people guessed that he was in love with you.” The younger man paused. “This upsets you?” 

“I don’t know,” Minerva replied, uncharacteristically apprehensive. She hesitated, but she trusted Remus to be discreet, and she didn’t know who else to turn to. “How do I know if I am in love with him?” 

Her question surprised Remus. “I don’t know if I’m the person to ask about that,” he said. “But I think if you are willing to make sacrifices for the other person’s happiness and wellbeing, if you cannot see your life without the other person in it, that is a fairly good indication.” 

“Hmmm.” Minerva stared off into the distance thoughtfully. 

 

“I never expected her to reciprocate,” Albus confided to Fawkes quietly. He hovered near the phoenix’s perch, absently stroking his feathers. “All the same…” 

Fawkes chirped sympathetically. 

“I am a fool,” Albus sighed. 

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. 

“Come in,” he called. His eyes widened in surprise at the person who entered. “Minerva?”

His Deputy entered the room quietly, gently closing the door behind her and crossing the room to stand before him. She regarded him silently for a moment. 

“I was born with green skin,” she stated. 

“The color of your skin does not affect who you are,” Albus replied quietly. “I fell in love with more than your physical beauty.” 

This last statement appeared to throw her off. She blushed, averting her gaze, and it took her a moment to regain her train of thought. 

“I cannot stand the touch of water,” Minerva continued. 

“I had guessed,” Albus acknowledged. “But now that I know, I can help you avoid water.” 

“I am half your age, and people are cruel.” 

“Their talk does not bother me, although I daresay I have had much practice in ignoring them. In my eyes you are my equal; age does not matter.” 

“You should know then, that I will not live for much longer after you die. The average Ozian lifespan is about the same as that of a Muggle. Wizards and witches live far longer. If we were to convert our ages, you would not be so much older than me, relatively speaking.” 

“I did not know,” he said in surprise.

She inclined her head and continued, “I am not a Light Witch.” 

“You are not evil, Minerva.” 

“I have been hated and feared, have killed, imprisoned, and lied.”

“You were wrongfully accused by a tyrant, and I know you would only kill in self-defense. You had your reasons for what you did. Minerva, you are good and intelligent, confident, courageous, and compassionate; you have numerous good qualities. I am in love with everything that makes you who you are.” 

“No one has ever said anything like that to me,” she said quietly. She paused, tilting her head to one side thoughtfully. And then she stepped closer to the other man, leaned upward, and kissed him. 

Her movement took him by surprise, and he froze before abruptly pulling her flush against his body and reciprocating, the kiss becoming increasingly passionate. Heat spread throughout Minerva’s body, and the numbness that resided in her heart, her last defense, melted away. At every point his skin touched hers, sparks of pleasure coursed through her veins. When at last the two broke apart, she was panting, her pulse racing. 

“Minerva…?” Albus questioned hoarsely, eyes dark with desire. 

“I…I believe that I may be in love with you as well, Albus.” 

Quite suddenly he was kissing along her jaw and down her throat. She inhaled sharply at the sensations he was causing. 

“Stay with me,” he murmured along her collarbone. 

“Always,” she gasped.


End file.
